Operation CHRISTMAS: A Halo Reach Holiday Tale
by AetheriumDreams
Summary: Slightly AU. Christmas is coming up and Noble Team is getting ready. Madness ensues as Spartans try to follow holiday traditions. Meanwhile, one of them refuses to celebrate! Can the team change his mind? CarterxKat, maybe other pairings later
1. Chapter 1 Oh, Christmas Tree

"But I don't see why we have to get a _real_ tree," Jun said for the fifth time, dragging his feet in the snow. A normal human would have been bogged down by the eighteen inches of packed white flakes, but the Spartan-III moved easily, albeit reluctantly. "I mean, the folks back at Delta Base use their heads and go buy one from Uni-Mart. Where it's _warm_." He pulled the thick fur lining his white and gray park closer to his face to block the frigid wind. "And why are we walking when we could have just stolen a snowmobile?"

"Whiny sniper is whiny," Kat sighed. She had on a parka similar to Jun's, but hers had much more fur tacked on, and she wore a white balaclava over her face, with blue sunglasses to shield her eyes. Her boots were horrifyingly un-military, with little poofy furballs hanging on strings from the tops, just below her knees (_they'll be much warmer than combat boots_, she'd insisted to Carter when she picked them out at the mall in New Alexandria, while Emile tried hard not to barf). "It's only ten degrees below freezing, Jun."

"Only ten degrees," Jun muttered, shaking his head. "Well excuse me for not wanting to get frostbite and have my extremities fall off!"

"Winter really brings out the worst in you," Kat remarked.

"My therapist said it's seasonal affective disorder. Don't judge me," Jun snapped back.

"What's the holdup?" Jorge called from nearly thirty feet ahead. He seemed at home in the harsh atmosphere, having ditched his parka's hood for a black toboggan. Strapped across his back was an axe and a coil of thick rope.

"It's cold. I'm cold. My face is numb. This chill-resistant fabric is a lie," Jun said, teeth chattering.

"Oh come on, it's just some flurries and a bit of wind, that's all. Shouldn't take that long to find a decent tree anyway."

"There are trees _over there_!" Jun hissed, pointing at the fir trees that surrounded them in large numbers. "So can we just cut one down and drag it back to base already?"

"Nah, they just don't _look_ right, y'know?" Jorge admitted, turning toward the deeper part of the woods, where the trees got taller and thicker. "It has to be _the_ tree. You'll see what I'm talking about when we find it."

"Oh I see. _The_ tree. Great. Wonderful," Jun grumbled. "I'm going to freeze to death and no one will find my body till spring."

"It's not _that_ cold!" Jorge insisted. "I actually like this weather. Reminds me of several memorable training missions, one involving an avalanche. Ah, good times…"

"Kat?" Jun asked, getting close to his female superior.

"What?"

"I finally figured it out. ONI didn't augment Jorge. They combined his DNA with a polar bear's," the sniper whispered, and Kat almost giggled, but instead shook her head and smacked Jun lightly on the back of the head.

_Twenty minutes and minus five degrees later…_

At last the trio of searchers had found a tree. Not just a tree. _The _tree. It was tall and majestic and its spreading green boughs were covered with fresh snow. To top off its perfection, an opening appeared in the cloud cover overhead and a beam of sunlight shone down upon the tree. Jun swore he heard angels singing on the gusty wind.

The sniper sat down in the snow and pinched his nose, frowning when he couldn't feel his nose _or_ his fingertips. Meanwhile Kat inspected the tree for animal nests, and Jorge tested his axe, scything through a small tree with ease. "All clear," Kat announced, climbing down from a low-hanging branch. She jerked a gloved thumb at the tree. "Cut it down."

Jorge gave a curt nod, and once Kat moved out of the way, took aim and swung the axe with all his strength. It embedded itself deeply into the wood, then the Spartan yanked it out and swung again, making another deep cut in the same spot.

Kat and Jun watched his display of destruction from a safe distance. Jun flopped onto his back and spread his arms in the snow, then moved them up and down. "Ha, it's a snow angel," the sniper smirked, sitting back up. "I haven't made one of those since… well, since I was very small," he admitted.

Kat cocked her head. "My family observed Hanukkah, not Christmas," she said, removing her shades. A far-off look was in her green eyes. "My sister and I would play with our _dreidel_, and our relatives would give us money. That's all I remember."

CRASH!

The massive tree came down suddenly, helped along in its descent by Jorge, who pushed it in one direction. After the snow had settled, he dusted off his gloves, strapped the axe back on, and turned to his younger companions. "I'm not dragging it back by myself, if that's what you were thinking," he said dryly, and Jun sighed wearily.

_Back at Noble Base_…

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

Emile blanched as Rosenda snatched the can of cranberry sauce from him, her eyes flashing. "Jeez, woman, calm down," he protested, holding up both hands.

"Ha! You think I haven't seen your little misdeeds? That I haven't noticed the steadily declining supply of this stuff over the last week? I have surveillance set up in here, you know," Rosenda admonished, flouncing over to the pathetic little military kitchen and setting the cranberries down on the dull gray, grease-stained counter.

Emile said nothing, only folded his arms and huffed. Ever since the team had been assigned to this place, Rosenda had taken over the kitchen, forbidding the use of MRE's and insisting that the food be prepared "the old-fashioned way." Now that Christmas was approaching, her reign of terror had steadily gotten worse. She was stocking up on everything she thought was necessary—yams, dressing ingredients, a frozen turkey, vegetables, pumpkin pie mix—and to his delight, she had an entire cabinet stuffed full of his secret love, which was cranberry sauce.

So he stared wistfully at the can while Rosenda drummed her fingers on the counter, looking over her book of almighty recipes. "If you want to be useful, go torture Carter into finding some decorations. And no, I don't mean last year's leftovers that someone threw into a dumpster. For the love of pete, spend that paycheck on something other than cutlery!"

"The Commander said he wanted no part in this," Emile reminded her. "You know how he feels about Christmas."

Rosenda froze up for a moment, biting her lip, then her shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I know," she muttered. "Well then. _You_ go find some decent decorations, all on your onesy. Try Uni-Mart, they're having discount sales this week!"

"You want _me_ to go to _Uni-Mart_?" Emile hissed. He gestured at himself, indicating his intimidating black uniform, the kukri he kept strapped on his hip, and his serious, almost sour expression. "Wait til Jorge gets back, he loves interacting with the natives."

"Fine then, if you're going to be that much of a baby about it," Rosenda sighed. "Be useful and come help me peel potatoes!" She tossed a potato at him.

"Uh, knife?" Emile gestured.

"You already have one, genius."

"I AM NOT PEELING A FRICKIN' POTATO WITH MY PRECIOUS!"

_One mile away from Noble Base…_

"I vote we take a break," Jun panted, his grip on the huge tree trunk slackening.

Kat and Jorge glanced at each other, then Jorge shrugged and eased the tree down. Jun let go and tottered over to a snow-covered stump, where he sat down and rubbed his hands together woefully. "So… this was fun," he confessed. "Let's never do it again."

"What did your family do for Christmas, Jun?" Kat asked out of the blue.

Jun frowned, pondering. "Um, my family was Buddhist," he admitted. "We didn't really do anything at all, just kinda played in the snow like all the other kids."

"What about you?" Kat asked, glancing at Jorge.

The Spartan-II scowled, thinking deeply for a minute or so, then shifted his weight uneasily. "Um… I don't exactly _remember_, see…"

"Well regardless, we're going to have a good one this year," Kat said hurriedly, to smooth things over. "All right, break's over. Chop chop!" She pushed Jun off his stump and strode briskly toward the tree, the poofballs on her boots swinging as she went.

Jun noticed that Jorge was still deep in thought and elbowed the big man to snap him out of it. "Don't worry about it," the sniper said reassuringly. "Let's just focus on today, mmm?"

"Yeah," Jorge replied, brightening a bit. "Let's get this thing moving!"

The three Spartans resumed their epic quest to drag the tree all the way back to base. The wind had actually died down and there were light snowflakes coming down, making everything seem peaceful. Kat bit her lip underneath her balaclava and inwardly regretted asking Jorge about his childhood. From what she and the other Spartan-IIIs had gathered, the Spartan-IIs had been forced to forget their old lives. It had been different for the IIIs. Memory of their old lives was what drove them to fight the Covenant, to get revenge.

But Kat was crafty, and had a woman's wiles to boot. She would make sure this Christmas was the best any of Noble Team's Spartans had ever had. There was just one obstacle to this… one she wasn't sure how to tackle, even with her superior strategy skills…

The Commander hated Christmas.

**Oh my! The Commander hates Christmas? How will the rest of Noble convince him to partake in the festivities, and will they find out why he feels that way? Stay tuned to find out!**

**(Oh, and whiny Jun sort of belongs to fonteAQUA, aka the Queen of Halo Crackfics, amen and hallelujah. I just love this version of him to death)**


	2. Chapter 2 TO THE MALL!

Carter sat on his bed, dressed in a dark gray uniform and black boots. He had a five o'clock shadow and his eyes looked tired. He was alone in the men's quarters and took the opportunity to pull a holographic photo out of his pocket. He stared at the photo with a blank expression, watching as a man and a woman smiled up at him. The chill in the air seemed to grow more pronounced, and the Spartan Commander shivered slightly.

"GAH!"

He shoved the photo back into his pocket as Jun came bursting through the door. "Hot shower!" the sniper yelped, snatching a gray sweat suit and fleeing toward the shower area. Carter watched him go, a bit perplexed. "Must… thaw… face…" Jun was saying, and it echoed down the hall.

Carter pulled the picture back out and resumed staring at it.

It was around holidays like this that he missed them the most.

_Elsewhere inside Noble Base…_

Kat adjusted her clingy gray sweater and sighed. Everything the Spartans wore was either black, gray or white, excluding their armor. It was simplistic and typical of the military, but just wouldn't do for the holiday. She would have to dispatch someone to Uni-Mart or the mall to pick up some decent holiday wear…

She walked into the mess hall, where Rosenda had taken over the kitchen. Emile was standing there looking constipated while he monotonously shaved the skin off potatoes with a steak knife. Rosenda was moving faster than a hyperactive five-year-old, chattering about recipes and spices and secret ingredients. Kat shook her head, resisting the urge to grin. Rosenda was as lethal as Emile in a fight, albeit more reserved, but she had a fascination with cooking that bordered on obsession.

"Did you get a tree?" Rosenda blurted upon seeing Kat. She was obviously high on caffeine or sugar.

"Yes we did—Jorge 'conscripted' a few Marines to help put it up in the rec room," Kat said, recalling how four of the seven Marines had opted to ride on the tree instead of helping to carry it.

"Oh Lord," Emile muttered, resisting the urge to facepalm. "Not those morons."

"Hey, you have to give them some credit. They're actually excited about decorating. Unlike _some people_," Rosenda growled, glaring daggers at Emile.

Emile shrugged. "Hey, to each his own. Me, I don't care for the flashy stuff."

"Where's Six?" Kat asked, looking around. "She wasn't in the girl's quarters, the bathroom, or the weight room, and since she's not here, I don't know where she could be."

"Oh, that's simple," Rosenda giggled. "She's going to get us a turkey."

"I thought we had a turkey?" Kat queried, confused.

"Oh, we do. But it's not nearly big enough. Six volunteered to go nail one so we'll have some for everyone," Rosenda assured the Lieutenant Commander.

"On a different note… how's Carter?" Kat asked hesitantly. "I haven't spoken with him all day."

Rosenda's expression fell a bit and Emile cleared his throat.

"Um… let's just say he's not in the holiday spirit," Rosenda muttered. "In fact, I don't think he wants anything to do with all this."

"He said we could pull this off ourselves, as long as he didn't have to do anything," Kat sighed. "I don't see why he has to be difficult, but I suppose he has his reasons."

Emile's eyes suddenly widened and he coughed, jerking his head toward the door. Kat turned and saw Carter standing there, looking somewhat weary. "Oh… Commander, I—" she began.

"It's okay, Kat," Carter said, attempting to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Have fun." With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall, and Kat stared after him, perplexed.

"Oh the drama," Emile mused, as Kat hurried after the Commander.

"Commander!"

Kat caught up with Carter and matched his pace. "Commander, I'm sorry I—"

"Didn't I just say it's okay?" Carter complained, facing the female Spartan. He stopped walking and looked into her face, aware that she was a few inches shorter than he was, and that she had invaded his personal space. "You shouldn't worry about me, Kat."

"I wasn't worryi—" Kat began, then paused and sighed. "Maybe I am worried. I just don't like seeing you down and not knowing what's going on."

"I'm a big boy and I'll take care of my own problems," Carter chided. "Besides, I may not enjoy the holiday, but that doesn't mean you have to sit on the sidelines. Go. Be a part of it and have fun with the others," he told her gently. "This is a time for joy, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Kat shot back. "Which is why it bothers me that you're depressed!"

"I never said I was—"

"You didn't have to say," Kat interrupted, placing one finger over Carter's mouth, shushing him. "Now. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Carter said, taking her hand and lowering it back to her side. "Like I said, it's my problem and I'll deal."

"Really." Kat's eyes narrowed to green slits. "I thought you didn't like 'all the lone wolf stuff,' Commander."

"Curiosity killed the cat, _Lieutenant Commander_," Carter told her, his expression serious.

Kat sighed, shaking her head, and started back up the hallway.

_In the rec room…_

"So… anybody got any ideas for ornamentation?"

All six of the UNSC Marines looked up at the tree, scratched their heads and pondered Gunnery Sergeant Stacker's question. The Gunny crossed his arms and snorted. "Come on now, use those pea brains and come up with somethin'! This is CHRISTMAS for gosh sakes! 'Bout as important as your momma's birthday!"

"We could hang grenades! They look like ornaments," a Private declared happily, holding up a frag grenade.

"NO." Stacker bellowed, stamping one foot. "We are not. Hanging. Grenades. ON A CHRISTMAS TREE," he growled.

"Um, we could use barb wire as garland!"

"GAAAAH! NO! Whaddya think we are, Nazis?"

"Oh I know! We could string popcorn!" another Private piped up eagerly.

"Now that sounds sane. Might not be the purtiest thing, but it'll get the job done." Stacker glared at them all. "MARINES! Pop some popcorn and get to work!"

"SIR YES SIR!" the Privates all chorused, then scattered to find popcorn.

_In the mess hall…_

Rosenda stirred the pumpkin pie mixture, humming a marching cadence to herself, then glanced over her shoulder and sighed. "Look at all of you, begging like a bunch of stray puppies. Get lost!"

"Can I lick the spoon when you're done?" Jun asked hopefully.

"NO!"

"It's a lost cause, I'm afraid," Jorge sighed, while Emile stared at the can of cranberry sauce and willed it to levitate in his direction. Which, of course, did not happen.

"If you three want to be useful, then get your butts in a 'Hog and go find some decorations! I'm talking about lights, ornaments, the works! It's too dull and boring around here," Rosenda ordered. Then she smiled evilly. "If you do that, then… I _just might_ think about letting you sample my cooking when it's done…"

"All right, that settles it, we're going to the mall," Jun babbled, grabbing Emile's arm and attempting to drag him toward the door.

Emile yanked his arm back and frowned. "We? Oh no. If you want to go make a fool of yourself, go right ahead. I'm fine right where I am, thank you."

"Emile." Jun grabbed his head and forced him to look at the cranberry sauce. "_It needs you_."

"I'll go start the 'Hog," Jorge said in a bored tone.


	3. Chapter 3 Spartans Shouldn't Shop

"Oh. My. God."

Jun's words were drowned out by the intense level of noise present in the mall. Emile glared at the flashy lights and the throngs of people with suspicion, probably gauging whether or not there were terrorists present. The smell of exotic food hung in the air and music blared from stereo speakers hidden in the walls. People of all races, shapes and sizes milled around, window-shopping and hanging out. It would be no great feat for the Spartans to blend in… as long as they didn't do anything out of the ordinary. "It's so… big…" Jun mumbled, tugging on Emile's arm.

"It's a _mall_, dummy," Emile growled, roughly shrugging him off. "It's supposed to be freakishly big and obnoxious."

"Like your face?" Jun retorted.

"Shut up," Emile hissed.

A group of teenagers passed by, chattering briskly in Hungarian, and Jorge perked up. "This won't be too bad," he suggested, but Emile just glowered at him. "Besides, the list is simple. And we've got all the credits we could wish for."

"Ah… so who's going to get what?" Jun asked, looking eagerly from Emile to Jorge. "We have a plan, right?"

"Well, you _are_ the one who begged us to come here," Emile reasoned, shoving the list at the sniper, who looked horrified.

"Wha… hey, we're supposed to be a team, remember?" Jun protested. He looked around frantically for Jorge. "Hey, big man, you'll help me out, right? Uh, Jorge?" When he turned back to face Emile, the dark-skinned Spartan was gone as well, and even with his advanced scouting skills, he couldn't find them in the crowd.

"CURSE YOUUUUU…"

Some minutes later, Jun was walking through a department store, trying to find what Kat called "tinsel." He had no idea what tinsel was or what it looked like, so he kept scanning labels as he walked by, his enhanced vision serving him well.

He passed by a booth that was decked out with glass bottles. At first he thought maybe it was whiskey, but then he read the sign and figured out it was cologne. He was going to ignore it entirely, but then a perky blonde saleswoman saw him looking at the sign and made a beeline toward him, smiling broadly. She actually looked kind of scary, like she'd injected too much Botox lately. "Ah sir, care to sample our newest fragrance? We haven't had a customer in hours…"

"Um, no thank you, ma'am," Jun sputtered, backing away as the woman pulled a spray bottle full of amber liquid from her leather pouch. "No no no no NO—"

A cloud of mist hit him in the face. It would have probably smelled good at a distance, but it stung his nose and smelled horrible. It hit his eyes and he danced around growling, choking and hissing for several minutes, trying to get the accursed stuff off his face. When he opened his eyes they were red and every breath he took had a distinct smell to it. It even bothered his throat.

The woman was just standing there, smiling sweetly. "Would you like to try another—"

"NO!" Jun squawked, and walked away as fast as he could, mentally cursing his teammates for abandoning him to such abuse.

_Elsewhere in the mall…_

Emile studied the rack of knives on the wall. The interplanetary trade store was full of oddities that normally wouldn't be found anywhere else, including non-ballistic weaponry. His eyes roved over a particular knife that looked similar to his kukri but had ornate engravings all over the blade and red leather strips wrapped around the hilt.

He had no idea where Jorge was, and didn't care. Once he got bored he would hail the other two via chatter and find out how far Jun had gotten on the list. Until then, he was content to browse this store's selection of sharp and pointy objects.

After all, he reasoned, if his kukri ever broke, it made sense to keep another knife or two or three or four in reserve…

_Back at the department store…_

Jun was still fleeing from the crazy perfume lady when he ran into a brick wall. No, it wasn't quite a brick wall; it was Jorge. The smaller Spartan toppled over from the recoil and moaned, rubbing his eyes furiously and sneezing. "SAVE ME!" he wheezed.

"You smell funny," Jorge pointed out.

"We have to get out of here! There's a madwoman who's hellbent on spraying me in the face with—"

"Come to think of it, you smell _terrible_," Jorge mused, inching away from the sniper. "I hate to be rude, but please, stand downwind."

"Why did you leave me alone like that? I get nervous in crowds! That's why I'm a _sniper_! So I can have me-time 24/7!" Jun railed. "Emile's a douche, so his desertion is excusable, but I thought we were friends!"

"Well, er, it's just that…"

"Spit it out, or I promise, I WILL tell Kat what you said the first time you saw her!"

"Wha…? Hey, it's not _my_ fault Spartan-II women are…differently shaped…"

"SPIT. IT."

Jorge sighed heavily. "Fine," he grunted, averting his eyes. "I'm trying to find a present for Dr. Halsey."

Jun just blinked a couple times, coughed again, and cleared his throat. "You mean… _the_ Doctor Halsey? The mean and vindictive Dr. Halsey? The Dr. Halsey that threatened to use a rectal thermometer on me unless I gave her information during my last checkup…?" he said timidly.

"A _what_?"

"Never mind, it's just… um… dude, she probably doesn't even care. I'm not trying to be cruel or anything, she's just kinda… detached. In a creepy and evil way."

Jorge straightened and even looked a little upset. "Dr. Halsey," he said, as if the name was holy, "Has done more for me than perhaps anyone else. She's the closest thing to a mum I can recall. Therefore, I'm getting her something." He paused and mulled it over. "I just don't know what that is yet."

"Well, uh, good luck with that," Jun mustered, still disbelieving. "I'll, uh, keep doing what I was doing, then." He saw a familiar flash of blonde hair and a very loathsome spray bottle coming in their direction. "Um, sorrybutihavetogobye," he blurted, and almost jogged back into the main part of the mall.

"Odd," Jorge mused, continuing his quest for the perfect present.

_At Noble Base..._

"That is NOT a turkey!"

Rosenda pointed at the bird in question, seething, while Six raised both hands defensively. "Wha-at? I couldn't find any turkeys in a twenty-mile radius, so I just hauled off and shot one of these!"

"Holy…" Kat shook her head, amazed. "Well, Rosenda, at least you won't have to worry about quantity anymore, right? Ha ha!"

"Laugh all you want," Rosenda sulked, poking the dead Moa with the toe of her boot. "But for the record, you're both going to pluck the thing. And clean it."

"Hey, I'm the one who spent half a day hunting the thing…" Six protested.

"And I'm the one who'll be spending half a day preparing the monster!" Rosenda lamented. "I'm not even sure it'll fit in the oven!"

The three Spartan women stared down at the dead Moa, silently wondering what on earth they were going to do now. Then Kat's chatter rang and she answered it. "Noble-Two here," she said sharply, then cocked her head. "Yes sir." Then cocked her head even more. "Sir?" Then her eyes widened and she paled. "Eh… yes sir! Understood, sir." She hung up and turned to face the other two Nobles, one eyelid twitching slightly. "Get this bird cleaned up and fixed immediately," she breathed.

"Why? What's wrong?" Six asked.

"Holland. He's joining us for Christmas dinner," Kat said faintly, trying contain her disbelief.

_At the mall…_

Jorge was starting to become disheartened, because no matter how hard he looked, nothing stood out that would be a perfect gift for Dr. Halsey. He knew she wouldn't appreciate jewelry or anything like that, so that was a definite no. He wished he knew more about civilians so this wouldn't be such a bother. _What do people get each other for Christmas?_ He thought worriedly, his hands thrust into his pockets as he walked through a surprisingly vacant section of the mall. The fact that people got out of his way like a tank was approaching never once crossed his mind.

He finally gave up and sat down on a bench, frustrated. He could come up with any battle maneuver on the spot but something as simple as this was a mind-boggler. It made no sense.

"Yo."

Emile sat down next to Noble Five, a paper bag tucked under one arm. "How's it goin'?" the assault specialist asked.

"Terrible. I can't think of what to get for Dr. Halsey."

Emile absorbed this and shook his head. "Are you serious?" he asked, then noticed Jorge's determined expression. "Uh-huh, you're serious," he guessed. "Tough luck, man."

"What have you got there?" Jorge asked, eyeing Emile's suspicious-looking paper bag.

Emile unrolled the bag and dumped out not one, not two, not three or four, but five custom-made hunting knives, not a one of them under twelve inches long. Jorge looked from the knives to Emile's priceless grin and back, and made a disparaging sound. "And what exactly do you plan to _do_ with those?" he demanded, then thought better of it and added "Never mind, I suppose we'll all see soon enough." He was sure that plenty of Grunt and Elite skulls were doomed to be violated in the near future.

"There's something else in that bag," Jorge accused, his sharp eyes noticing something amiss.

"Uh, no there's not," Emile replied, but made no effort to prove Jorge wrong. He just stuffed the knives back in and rolled it up, then stuck it under his armpit.

Jorge could have sworn he saw something, but decided not to press the issue further. Besides, wrangling Emile and using brute force to pry the bag away from him was not something that belonged in a mall… or in any sort of civilized company, for that matter.

"Think Jun's about finished?" he asked, changing the subject.

Emile shook his head. "I don't know, but he better be gettin' close. I've had enough of this weirdo farm."

Presently Jorge and Emile decided that the mall was boring and they needed to get back to base. While Emile looked for Jun, Jorge went over to a small odds and ends shop, still resolute in his journey to find Dr. Halsey a gift. Emile went past every open store, checking for a taller-than-normal bald Asian guy. Finally he found him, standing in a long line of customers, loaded down with boxes and bags. Emile signaled him to hurry up. Jun freed one hand and signaled back that he needed more time. Emile signed "your mom" and Jun responded with the most well-known hand sign in all human space, the middle finger.

Oh, the joys of Spartan hand signals.

_To be continued in Chapter 4!_

**Author's Note: Just what does Emile have in the bag that Jorge should not see? Deep burning questions… shall be answered in due time… and how will the team prepare for Holland's impending arrival? STAY TUNED!**


	4. Chapter 4 Converting the Commander

"We're ba-a-ack!" Emile sang, after kicking in the door. He marched in, with Jun following, still wiping his red eyes and muttering about a newly developed fear of shopping malls. Jorge, of course, was stuck carrying all the trappings, which consisted of many boxes, bags and random packages.

"What the…"

The place was clean. Sparkling. Scary clean. It even smelled like Pine Sol, which was odd, because Pine Sol had ceased production in the 23rd century. At any rate, it was slightly eerie, also because no one was bumming around like usual. The place had been wiped clean and squared away…

… and decked with _holly_?

"Ooh! It's like that old song! _Deck the halls with boughs of—_OW!" Jun screeched as Emile twisted his ear. "Don't interrupt my festive song! And let go of my ear!"

"Ah, you're back," Kat said, stepping out to greet them. Emile's jaw nearly detached itself from his face and fell to the ground. She was wearing a red velvet turtleneck (which clearly defined her womanliness) with black slacks that were tucked into black leather boots. Somehow she'd managed to comb her short hair differently and… was that _lipstick?_

"Jun, Jorge, run. Our friends have been kidnapped and replaced with evil twins," Emile said faintly, still holding Jun's ear between his thumb and forefinger, while Jun just stared.

"Oh, boys, you might want to run and change into something more formal. We're having esteemed company tonight," Kat admonished.

"Who?" Jun queried.

"Who do you think, the Easter bunny?" Kat snapped. "Colonel Urban Holland, that's who!"

"The Colonel's coming? Why?" Jorge wondered.

"No earthly idea. At all. But that doesn't change the fact he'll be here in less than seven hours. That's how much time we have to complete putting everything together," Kat instructed. "Apparently he wants to have Christmas dinner with us."

"But the Commander—" Emile started.

"Leave Carter to me," Kat purred. "Meanwhile you three clean up and change into something presentable."

"I just have one question," Jun said, raising his hand. "Where did you get that shirt?"

"Why you silly goose," Kat sighed, shaking her head. "I stole it from Vice Admiral Parangosky."

"That old hag?" Emile sputtered.

"It looks infinitely better on me," Kat stated.

"Infinitely tighter," Emile coughed.

"What was that?"

"NOTHING!"

_In the kitchen, aka Rosenda's Lair…_

"What have you DONE?"

Rosenda gaped at the mess Gunnery Sergeant Stacker and his men and women had made. The Spartan replacement stalked forward and looked Stacker in the eye, which required her to look down. "I told you to prepare the Moa, Gunny! You assured me you could do this! So WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?"

"Well, y'see, there's only one real way to prepare one a' these beauties," Private Chips Dubbo drawled, flipping a meat patty on the huge skillet he was tending. He turned and Rosenda saw he was wearing an apron over his armor that said "Make Out with the Cook." "Ya make 'em the traditional Reach way… between two buns!"

"This. Is. A. SEMI-FORMAL. OCCASION," Rosenda hollered, as if that would help. "One does not serve burgers at a semi-formal occasion!"

"I had burgers at my wedding, thank you very much!" Stacker protested.

"Like that means anything?" Rosenda hissed.

Rosenda had been chosen by Holland to act as Emile's replacement on missions involving Insurrectionists, because she showed restraint as opposed to his habit of chopping up his foes. However, this situation made her want to go dismember a lot of people and leave lots of gore.

"Alrighty then…" Rosenda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and gritting her teeth. "Noble Actual, tonight you dine… on Moa burgers!"

_Elsewhere inside Noble Base…_

Kat slowly opened the door to Carter's private quarters and stepped in. The light was off but light came in from outside, dimly illuminating everything. This was where the Commander usually did his paperwork or pulled all-nighters filling out mission reports. There was a cot along one wall, and sure enough, Carter was laying on it, holding a data pad in front of his face. He looked up and saw her enter and put the data pad down, shutting it off, then sat up.

"Hey," Kat said, stealing over to sit at his side. "You really are in a funk, aren't you?"

"I can't do it, Kat."

"Wha…?"

"I can't celebrate Christmas."

There was a long pause between them, and predictably enough, Kat asked "Why?"

Carter picked up the data pad, turned it on, and opened an image program. He scrolled through various folders and poked one with his index finger. It opened and many images displayed across the screen. They were of a man and a woman and a young boy.

"I was one of the oldest Alpha Company recruits," Carter said softly, bowing his head. "Eleven when I finally reached Onyx. The other kids, they were younger. Didn't have as many memories to hold onto."

"How did you manage to keep all these?" Kat asked, amazed. She leaned in closer to get a better view, her forehead brushing Carter's bristly chin in the process.

"I had a data card with photos stored on it in my pocket when Biko was evacuated," Carter muttered. "I've had a couple of them developed… but most of them are in here," he indicated the data pad, "And in here," he added, tapping his forehead. "The card was taken from me when I started training, but after I got pulled from Alpha, well… Ambrose gave it back."

"They're beautiful," Kat said. "Your parents, I mean."

"They were," Carter agreed.

"So what does this have to do with you and Christmas?" Kat inquired.

"My memories of Christmas are with my parents," Carter said, clenching his jaw. "My family. Trying to observe it without them, it's… it's like I'll forget or something. I don't know. I don't feel like a Commander right now, I feel like a… a…"

_A lost little boy_, Kat thought, looking into Carter's handsome, scarred face. She cut him off by planting her lips on his, and when he didn't resist, she kept going. Finally the kiss broke and she nuzzled his cheek. "You idiot," she murmured, putting her arms around him. "You have a family. It's right here in front of your face. Enjoying happiness with us could never tarnish the memories you have of your parents. It never hurts to make new memories, especially if they're with people you care about."

"Kat…" Her nearness and softness was overwhelming his defenses by the second…

"I care about you, Carter," Kat interrupted, fixing him with her penetrating stare. "Very, very much."

Carter was silent for a moment, then he smiled, a genuine if somewhat sad smile.

"I guess I've been a regular fool then, huh?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"Perhaps." Kat chuckled, then cocked her head. "Now. How about cleaning up, getting dressed and joining the rest of society for a hot meal and some important guests?"

"Important guests?" Carter echoed, confused.

"Colonel Holland has invited himself to our little gathering," Kat said sweetly, as Carter paled and nearly fell off the bed. "Oh, and this just in: he's bringing friends. Very important friends, too. Apparently the notion of Spartans hosting a Christmas party draws attention faster than we thought."

"I have to hit the showers!" Carter fussed, jumping up and running down the hall to the men's quarters. He skidded to a halt in front of his designated trunk and dug out a neatly-folded uniform and some dress shoes, along with a white undershirt. "And shave! And inspect the receiving area! And—"

Kat planted another soft kiss on his mouth to shut him up. "Off you go, Commander," she admonished, pushing him toward the showers. "Leave the worrying to me. I've got it covered."

"Kat, sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," Carter admitted, heading off to the showers.

"Don't you mean most of the time?" Kat snarked, and Carter sighed, though there was a renewed spark in his cobalt eyes.


	5. Chapter 5 Got Your Back

"Rosendaaaa…"

Emile slunk into the kitchen, where a worked-up Rosenda-344 was desperately trying to clean up the mess that GYSGT Stacker and his crew of dimwits had left. He was wearing his all-black dress uniform, complete with all the medals he'd won fighting the Covenant and Insurrectionists. Rosenda turned to look at him and her eyebrows rose slightly. "Wow. Who knew, you actually look sane," she said, smirking. Her shoulder-length brown hair was sweaty and trailed into her face as she cleaned up stains and put things back where they belonged.

"Got somethin' for ya," Emile announced, one hand behind his back.

Rosenda's head snapped up and she cocked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, really. Look, you and I both know we can't stand each other 'cause I'm your replacement."

"So? No reason to be all huffy about it," Emile said. "Besides, it _is_ Christmas…"

He brought his hand out from behind his back, and to Rosenda's utter shock it was…

A can of_ cranberry sauce._

"Figured I might as well contribute, since I ate half your supply," Emile said matter-of-factly, tossing the can at her.

She caught it, looked it over, then sighed. "Uh… thanks," she said, feeling awkward. Normally she was the sassy one, but now she felt disappointed. What had she been expecting from him, a freaking diamond ring? They were Spartans. But still… she had been expecting something a little more, say, meaningful…

"Well, see ya. Better hurry on up, 'cause company's comin' fast," Emile reminded her, walking out of the kitchen. Rosenda just stood there, staring after him, then she sighed and shook her head. Emile would never learn, because Emile was only in love with his kukri knife.

_Noble Base, upper level #2_

Jorge watched as the snow fell. It was a peaceful snowfall, not driven by the wind or peppered with ice. He would have been out in it, had he not wanted to get snowflakes all over his dress uniform just yet.

He had found Halsey's present, just before he, Emile and Jun left the mall. He hoped it would be good enough. He'd decided on this particular present by thinking hard and long about all the things Halsey had given him, right down to the very first thing. It was simple, but held a lot of meaning for him. He could only hope it would hold some sort of meaning for her. Finding out that she was actually coming tonight made him slightly nervous. It had been a while since they'd seen each other, years even.

What Kat had asked him hours earlier was bothering him now. Why couldn't he remember what Christmas had been like before the Spartan-II Program? Surely those memories were too precious for his mind to simply throw away. But most likely, they were gone… just like his last name was gone… and his parents' faces…

"Don't tell me you're depressed too."

Kat joined Jorge, looking out at the beautiful snowy landscape. She crossed her arms and sighed. "I finally got Carter to snap out of it. He'll be joining us shortly."

"Me, depressed? Nah." Jorge shook his head. "Just deep in thought, I suppose."

"If this is about what I said earlier—"

"No, no. It's fine. No harm done, right?"

"_Men_," Kat said ominously. "You're all alike, you and Carter and the other Y-chromosome-bearing idiots on this base. Why is it so hard to tell a woman exactly what's going on?"

"Because then you try to fix everything!" Emile grunted, strolling into the room. He had buzz-cut his hair shorter and was actually making an attempt at looking formal in his uniform. "No offense, Kat, but men have this pride-thing that never leaks information except under dire circumstances."

"Oh really," Kat remarked, cracking her knuckles. "Exactly what does _dire circumstances_ entail?"

"Y'know what, forget I ever said that," Emile answered quickly, backing away with both hands raised in a placating gesture. "And I saw Carter gettin' all fixed up back in the locker room. How on earth did you manage that?"

"Let's just say he found himself under _dire circumstances_," Kat purred, and Emile found himself reconsidering what the definition of "dire circumstances" might be, and when his mind arrived at a suitable conclusion, he cracked a smile that was both envious and knowing.

_In the women's quarters…_

"What… what is this?" Six panicked, turning around to look at herself in the mirror. "How did this happen?"

Rosenda shook her head, still drying her hair with a towel. She had just gotten out of the shower and no longer smelled like food. "Looks like somebody ignored the little tag that says 'dry clean,' chick. But hey, I'm sure the guys won't mind," she said slyly.

Six turned to look at her teammate with furious eyes. She indicated her uniform—which was now two or three sizes too small—and one of her eyelids twitched once. "This isn't cute, it's humiliating! I look like… like a… well, it just won't do," the hyper-lethal vector huffed. "Got anything in your trunk I could try to wear? All I got's camo and PT clothes."

"Hmmm, lemme see…" Rosenda hung her towel over her shoulders, hopped down, and opened the trunk at the foot of her bunk. She sorted through it, pulling out various items of clothing, then shook her head. "I got nothin' but my own uniform and what you have. Sorry," she sighed. "Ummm… hey, let's see what Kat has in her trunk! She's always stealing clothes from people she hates."

"Like Vice Admiral Parangosky?" Six chuckled. "Huh, I'm almost curious to see her 'collection.' If she's got anything else like that shirt she has on today, I'm very interested."

Rosenda fiddled with the lock on Kat's trunk. "Ah, crap. Should've known she'd make it impossible to pick. Well, guess that plan's toast." She looked up at Six. "There's only one option left now."

"Which is?"

"Chips Dubbo. His mom always sends him sweaters that are too big, or so he complains. And they're knitted from real sheep's wool, too! From Australia!"

Six facepalmed, but grimly accepted Rosenda's suggestion, knowing that she had no other choice.

_In the mess hall…_

"Be careful with those plates! Quit lagging! Eyes off the pie, Marine! Move!" Kat snapped, stalking like a velvet-clad taskmaster as Stacker's squad of Marines rushed to set the table properly and get everything ready.

Everything was flowing smoothly, taking shape in a timely manner. Kat, who prided herself on being an organized mastermind, had taken the reins and wielded her rank as a whip, reprimanding the slow and distracted. Noble Base was going to give Colonel Holland and his important guests a satisfactory Christmas dinner… or all the incompetents would suffer greatly for their failure, because Kat never accepted defeat. Even in a matter so "trivial" as this.

"You're so tense," Carter remarked, coming up behind the female Spartan. "I thought Christmas was a time to relax."

"Oh, so now _you're_ begging _me_ to adhere to tradition? Ha," Kat smirked. Then she turned and got a good look at the Commander, and both eyebrows rose. He was clean-shaven and looked dazzling in his black uniform, with his broad shoulders and many medals. Kat hadn't seen him this dressed up in ages.

Christmas was definitely going to become a tradition for Noble Team. Even if it was for the selfish reason that Kat enjoyed checking Carter out in all his groomed glory.

_In the rec room…_

"It's so CUTE!" Rosenda declared, resisting the urge to hug Six, who looked ready to crawl under a rock and die.

Six raised her arms and looked down at the cream-colored sweater she had on. It was a thick and fluffy wool sweater, and it itched. Badly. Luckily, it was actually kind of baggy on her. Apparently Chips Dubbo's dear mum thought he was much larger than his actual size.

"I look like a schoolgirl," Six complained, while Rosenda fussed with her hair. "No, scratch that. I look like an _idiot_. I thought I would never be able to say this about clothing again, but it's too big!"

"Aw, get a hold of yourself. You look fine," Rosenda chided. "Now hold still so I can get this knot out of your hair!"

Six gnawed her lip while Rosenda fussed with the back of her head. Unlike Rosenda and Kat, Six was often quiet as a mouse, usually only saying what needed to be said. Her specialty was action, not words. The nagging feeling inside of her right now wanted to be expressed, but her training and pride held it back. It was the familiar old feeling of being alone, invisible. It was odd how the loneliness became more pressing among people and more bearable when she was out in some wilderness with just a gun and some ammo for company.

"I need some air," she declared, pulling away from Rosenda and making a beeline for the door. She didn't care that it would be cold outside. She needed an opportunity to clear her head and think.

She walked out onto the concrete landing pad, the heels of her plain black boots crunching in the layer of snow. Tiny flakes floated down and latched onto the sweater. Six exhaled and looked up at the cloudy sky. She was beginning to think like Carter had been thinking earlier that day… that Christmas was depressing and that she didn't really want to celebrate. Her parents were long dead and her homeworld was glass. Six shook her head, wondering why these thoughts were so damaging to her now. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she _should_ be happy or at least in good spirits that was troubling her.

"You too, eh?"

A shadow loomed over Six and she turned and looked up to see Jorge standing there. He took off his overcoat and draped it on her, shaking his head. "It's too chilly for that, Six. We Spartans may be tough, but we still catch cold."

"Well what about you?" Six asked, resisting the urge to gawk at the literal collection of military decorations that formed a colorful array on one side of Jorge's uniform.

"I'm used to it," Jorge said, looking out at the vast expanse of snow. "This is Reach, you know. Half my training was bogged knee-deep in snow and ice."

"Right." Six smiled, but it quickly faded. "I guess I came out here just to feel the wind on my face. It's kind of stuffy inside," she said.

"It's lonesome out here," Jorge remarked. "You feeling down, Six?" He sounded concerned.

"No," she answered, then thought about it and sighed. "Maybe," she admitted, clasping her hands together. "I guess it's because I'm, well, you know. I haven't been on this team as long as everyone else. I guess I'm just uncomfortable for some reason."

"Bah, there's no reason to feel ill at ease with us. We don't bite, 'cept for Emile," Jorge joked. Then he became serious. "But really… you don't have to worry about feeling out of place. Stick with me, if you like. I've got your back."

Six blinked and smiled slightly. Perhaps she wasn't so alone as she thought.


	6. Chapter 6 Fail or Win?

Carter looked up at the huge tree, resisting the urge to gape, while Kat chuckled and squeezed his hand. "See, we are capable of decorating without using alien blood and guts," she teased. "You can thank Jorge for the tree and Jun for the decorations. And Gunnery Sergeant Stacker's men for hanging all the ornaments."

"Always a pleasure to help out, ma'am," Stacker said coolly, from where he and his squad were resting. One of them was hopelessly tangled in string threaded with popcorn while two others were picking off the popcorn and eating it, seemingly oblivious to their comrade's discomfort.

"Man, you guys went all-out… it brings back memories," Carter said, and Kat squeezed his hand again, reminding him of what she'd said earlier. "But what say you we spend tonight making some good ones, right?"

"I couldn't agree more," Kat said with a sly smile.

"Achoo!"

Jun trudged in, sniffling. He looked like he was having an allergy attack or something. "Ah, Commander, you're alive," the sniper snarked, looking from Carter to the tree. "Wow. That makes nearly freezing to death almost worth it."

"Quit exaggerating, it was a refreshing walk in the woods," Kat said dismissively.

"Are you sick, Jun?" Carter asked, concerned for his teammate, who despite his pressed uniform looked slightly miserable.

"I don't think so—it's just, you see, Emile and Jorge abandoned me in the middle of the mall, and then this psychotic woman attacked me with a bottle of cologne, and it got up my nose and in my eyes…" Jun sniffled again and sighed. "It was worse than tear gas, I swear."

"Poor baby," Emile sneered, walking up behind Jun and thumping him on the back of the head, which made the sniper wince. "Hey, anybody seen Rosenda? Or Jorge and Six for that matter? Time's gettin' close."

"I think I saw Jorge and Six outside," Jun piped up, then sneezed. "Crazy Hungarian polar bear hybrid. He's going to bring her back and we'll have to chisel her out of an iceblock—"

"I'm right here," a sultry voice chimed, and Emile turned to see Rosenda standing in the doorway. She had her hair up in a ponytail and wore her standard uniform, but had the front partially unzipped and was wearing what looked like a necklace of brass .22 shell cartridges. It looked like actual jewelry, the way she had it made, and the fact that it was made of spent shells both amazed and intrigued Emile. It was like Rosenda had morphed into a completely different person.

"What are you staring at, skullface?" Rosenda snapped, noticing his stare.

"What's it look like I'm starin' at, little girl?" Emile retorted.

"Your mom."

"Your mom's _face_."

"Can it, you two," Carter sighed, like a weary parent trying to placate a stubborn teenager. "At least for tonight. I'm already amazed you and Jorge haven't found something to squabble about," he remarked, glancing at Emile.

Emile shrugged. "Hey, we played that game last week. I'm still plotting for next week."

"You stop that. Find someone to torture other than Jorge, for gosh sakes," Rosenda sighed, rolling her eyes.

Emile leaned in close and smiled demonically. "Oh, I think I just did," he breathed, and Rosenda shoved him, disgusted.

"Hey, uh, I just thought of something," Jun said awkwardly, stifling a cough. "Um… aren't we supposed to get each other gifts for Christmas, y'know, something like that?"

There was a long and very awkward silence after that, and Kat sighed. "I thought about that, but really, what could we possibly give to each other that wouldn't get lost or destroyed in a fight? And besides, I doubt Colonel Holland would appreciate it. It might be against regulations."

"I doubt it's against regulations, but you're right, Kat. We're Spartans. Giving gifts might seem like a nice idea, but really, when it comes down to it, we have no use for things like that," Carter admitted. "But it was good of you to suggest it, Jun."

The sniper hung his head, looking depressed. "But… I like boxes and wrapping paper and bows… and what's inside…"

Rosenda patted Jun on the shoulder, while Emile glowered and crossed his arms, pouting. "It's okay, Jun. I'm sure everything will be fine." Deep down she had a mental image of a bald Asian-looking toddler ripping open a Christmas present and squealing. It was kind of cute but also kind of disturbing.

_Outside, at least fifty meters from Noble Base…_

"… and then my mom and dad would watch me open my presents, and it would always be exactly what I wanted. We'd load up in the car and go the park and make snowmen and snow angels. My dad would always tease me about how I slipped on the ice and my mom would scold him," Six recounted, a smile ghosting her lips. "Then we'd go to a huge church and sing, and after that, we'd go to my grandparents' and have dinner."

She and Jorge were sitting on a fallen log, looking at Noble Base from the treeline. The snow had all but died down and the wind was actually being gentle. Six rubbed her hands together because they were cold and sighed. "I guess that's what being 'a kid on Christmas morning' means. You wake up and suddenly it's like the happiness will last forever, and the snow will never melt. But the snow always melts." She looked down at the snowy ground, where bits of leaf and grass poked up from the whiteness. "And the happiness does too."

Jorge was silent for a moment. He hadn't expected Six to tell him all that, though he actually liked hearing about it, but after making small talk she's burst like a bubble and started talking about her past. The smaller, blonde Spartan's shoulders slumped and she looked up at the sky as if seeking elusive answers.

"Don't go saying stuff like that. It'll mess with your head. In our business, you gotta keep your chin up," Jorge said, watching as she rubbed her hands more furiously. "Here, allow me." He trapped both of her hands between his and nearly winced at how icy they felt.

Six, despite the fact that her face was losing feeling, felt her cheeks flush and hoped it wasn't visible. "What about you? What was Christmas like for you… before, you know."

"Eh, that's a tough one." Jorge sighed, and for a moment he looked tired. "See, I don't—_can't_—remember. Anything." He smiled fondly at Six. "Guess it slipped past me during training."

"Anything?" Six echoed. Her memories of home and family were strong, because she'd held onto them as her reason for existing during training on Onyx. She couldn't imagine not being able to remember her parents' faces or how it felt to hug them. Thinking about that made her feel sad and she cocked her head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault. Besides, what did I say about keeping your chin up?" Jorge sighed. "Quit being stubborn!" Despite his nonchalant attitude, there was sadness in his eyes.

Six leaned over on Jorge's shoulder and let her head rest there. They were both silent for a few minutes, listening as the wind moved through the trees.

"I think it's about time we headed back, Six. You're going to be solidified before long," Jorge remarked, releasing the Spartan-III's hands. "Guess you really do have ice in your veins, huh?" It wasn't sarcasm, it was a joke, and she took it as such, grinning slightly.

"I guess we should be getting back," Six remarked, standing up. She inhaled deeply, feeling the frozen air enter her lungs. "I feel better now."

"Good." Jorge's shadow hung over her and she looked up at him, still unused to looking up at a teammate. It was almost eerie how different the Spartan-IIs were from the IIIs. But yet, they were all the same: they were all human. Not alien, not machine. Human. With human needs and hurts.

"WHAT ARE YOU MORONS DOING?"

Emile practically screamed at them from the doorway, his voice carrying across the airway. "Do you people actually enjoy freezing half to death or something? 'Cause it ain't normal!"

"Your point?" Jorge called.

"We just got word from Holland. He'll be arriving within the hour, along with company." Emile paused, then continued. "Come on inside, 'cause Kat needs somebody to help with last-minute details. Six, you've been summoned."

"Great," Six yelled back. It was not a happy statement.

_In a random hallway inside Noble Base…_

"Get your hands off me!"

Rosenda slapped away Emile's hand, and the assault specialist frowned. "Look, I was just tryin' to be, y'know, friendly…" he protested.

"And I'm a leprechaun. What is with you today? Normally you're threatening to kill me in my sleep if I take your place on the next Innie op," Rosenda spat. "Surely you're not intoxicated… I thought our augmentations made that impossible…"

"Of course I'm not," Emile snorted. "I dunno, I just… feel a bit more _tolerant_ today," the haughty Spartan added.

"Tolerant. Ri-i-ight," Rosenda said, in mock understanding. "So what's the catch? You gonna put me in a headlock, then what, Mister Tolerant?"

"Gah, you're hopeless," Emile grumbled, pushing past.

Rosenda followed him, unsure whether to run or to laugh. "Me, hopeless? Funny, normally that's what I'm saying about you."

"Look, if you don't wanna see me, then go away!" Emile snapped. "Otherwise, at least let me talk to you."

"I _am_ letting you talk—"

"No you're not, you're being sassy like you always are."

"Did you just call me _sassy..._?"

"Yeah, I did!"

"Fine then! Just… go away!" Rosenda spat, wondering why this conversation was getting her all in a huff. They'd sparred verbally before, but today was different.

"Fine. But first, let me do somethin'." Emile grabbed Rosenda by both arms, over her biceps, and before she could strike back, he leaned in and kissed her squarely on the mouth. It was rough, unpracticed, but something _made_ him do it, and once it was done, they both looked at each other in half-awe, half-horror.

"You… you…" Rosenda tried to speak, but couldn't. "You!" With that, she stomped angrily down the hall, ponytail bobbing on the back of her head.

Emile had a sudden urge to go dunk his head in the toilet. And flush it. Maybe that would shock him to his senses.


	7. Chapter 7 Party Crashers

"Noble Team… my, it's good to see you in person instead of on a screen," Colonel Urban Holland mused, his hands clasped behind his back as all seven Noble personnel stood at attention. He eyed Kat and Six's non-military attire with surprise, but did not say anything about it. "I must say this is a rare and unusual treat, but after so many months in the field, a good meal at Christmastime sounds like something I can't afford to pass up."

"Sir. We're honored to have you with us, as always," Carter replied.

Holland indicated his three guests and they stepped forward. "I'd like you all to meet Commander Jacob Keyes and his daughter, Lieutenant Commander Miranda Keyes." The elder Keyes had salt-and-pepper hair trimmed very short and a thoughtful, almost sad look to his angular face. His daughter had regulation-length dark brown hair and keen green eyes that swept over the Spartans with interest.

Kat and Carter relaxed somewhat, since these individuals matched them in rank. "Good to have you joining us, Commander Keyes," Carter said, stepping forward to shake the man's hand.

"I'm glad to be here, Spartan," Keyes replied.

Miranda and Kat shook hands and greeted each other, and Jun let out a barely audible whistle. "Do you see that?" he whispered to Emile, who elbowed him just hard enough to get the message across: shut up.

Jorge saw Commander Keyes and could have _sworn_ for a split second that he'd seen the man before, decades ago, but the feeling died and he squelched it. "Sir," he said, saluting when the Commander passed.

"You're a Spartan-II, aren't you?" Keyes asked, as if he knew already.

"Yes sir. Chief Warrant Officer Jorge-052, sir."

"At ease, Spartan. This isn't an introduction, it's a reunion." Keyes glanced around as if unseen eyes were watching and added, "You may not recall, but we met once before. That's all ONI will let me say, I'm afraid."

So he _had_ remembered! It hadn't just been a sense of false déjà vu after all. "I understand, sir." Part of him was burning to know how and why, but another part was content to remain in the dark because it was the will of ONI.

"What's that noise?" Six frowned, cocking her head. Her acute hearing had picked up a strange noise, probably because she was the only one not doing any talking. "Does anyone else hear that noise?"

The chatter ceased and all the Spartans flinched, hearing a strange sound that clashed horribly with the peaceful setting. The Keyes duo and Holland had arrived via Pelican, but even _that_ didn't sound so awful. All the Spartans immediately began to shift on the defensive, spreading out and looking around, trying to find the source of the ruckus.

"There! Look, an Albatross!" Jun said, pointing. "Achoo!"

Sure enough, it was an Albatross dropship. Much bigger than a Pelican, and much clumsier, too. And it was on fire.

"Uh-oh," Emile muttered.

As quickly as it had appeared, the dropship zoomed overhead, heading on a downward incline toward the forest. It disappeared over the treetops, then a loud BOOM sounded, following by the worst scraping noise any of them had ever heard. After that, a long silence followed, punctuated by one brief, loud cry from the Albatross's direction…

"BUUUUUUUCK!" a woman's voice screamed, full of rage. Every Spartan winced; their enhanced hearing picked it up much louder.

"Looks like we got company," Carter mused darkly. "Emile, Six, you're with me. Assume the intruders are hostile until we can confirm otherwise. Commander, Lieutenant Commander—you may follow Colonel Holland inside and wait until we have a definite ID on whoever this is. Jorge, Rosenda, Kat, Jun, make sure nothing unauthorized touches this base. Clear?"

"Understood," the remaining Spartans said in unison.

"Good. Let's go," Carter said grimly, pulling his M6D sidearm out and checking the ammo. He then started toward the tree line, with Emile and Six bringing up the rear.

_At the crashed Albatross…_

"Run, Gunny! Run!" Lance Corporal Kojo Agu cheered, watching as his team leader ran in hectic circles with a blonde-haired woman in hot pursuit. Agu, or "Romeo" as he preferred to be called, sat back on a fallen log and laughed to himself. It was actually kind of funny to see Dare the Almighty losing her cool… and at Eddie Buck, of all unfortunate people.

"I'll kill ya, Romeo," Buck yelled, jumping up onto a small tree and climbing to a safe distance. The fully-armored ODST cut a comical figure, sitting on a low-hanging tree limb. "I swear, I will kill you."

"Not until I've killed you first," Dare spat. She kicked the tree, and snow fell from overhead and splattered all over Buck's helmet. "That was the _stupidest_ thing you could have _possibly_ thought of!"

"We made it, though, didn't we? I mean, you're obviously not dead, or else you'd be quiet," Buck pointed out. "And hey, don't blame me for freak malfunctions. I just happened to get us on the ground before the thing could, say, overheat and explode, killing us all instantaneously, or crash straight down with similar gruesome results."

"This was supposed to be a _field exercise_, not a demonstration of your somewhat questionable survival maneuvers," Captain Veronica Dare muttered, shaking her head.

Corporal Taylor Miles, callsign "Dutch," finished gathering his gear from inside the heavily damaged dropship and grunted as he heaved Mickey's unconscious form from the Albatross's interior. "PFC Crespo bumped his head, but his bio signs are A-OK. He'll wake up soon enough," Dutch reported. He slung his buddy over his shoulder and watched, amused, as Dare further berated Buck, who took off his helmet and sat up in the tree looking bored. "Come on out and watch the fun, Rookie. You won't get another chance to see anything like this in a long, long time."

The Rookie poked his head up from behind a clump of snowy bushes and observed the increasingly argumentative exchange between CO and Gunny. He cocked his head, but said nothing, just clutched at his BR-55.

"Identify yourselves at once!"

All five of the conscious Marines turned at once to see a tall man in an unfamiliar black dress uniform standing among the trees, flanked by an equally tall African-looking man and a similarly-statured blonde woman in a dumpy cream-colored sweater. They all had M6D pistols and looked capable of putting up a rough fight, even without armor.

"I am Captain Veronica Dare, Office of Naval Intelligence," Dare announced. She blinked, then realization dawned on her. "You must be Spartans. I heard rumors you were operating out of this sector."

"Indeed we are, ma'am," Carter said, instantly deferring to her command. He holstered his pistol and stepped forward. "Are there any wounded among you?"

"Just one, and he may have a concussion," Dutch said.

Six and Emile stared at the Helljumpers, and the Helljumpers stared back. There was a legendary rivalry between Spartans and ODSTs, and if things got iffy, there was no telling what would happen.

The moment of tension passed when Buck put both hands together and looked at Carter imploringly. "Please, just do whatever she wants so I can climb down from here. This is degrading," he complained. "And for the record, I'm the one who saved everyone from a swift and explosive death!"

"Oh, come down already," Dare sighed, exasperated. "You'll have to forgive me… Commander," she said, taking note of the insignia on Carter's uniform. "We were running a simulation of a top-secret insertion op when our Albatross malfunctioned. And _yes_, Gunnery Sergeant Buck's piloting skills very well may have saved our lives." She shot Buck a look that said _happy now? _and he smirked, beaming, then jumped down to the snow.

"Emile. Go back to base and tell Holland we got friendlies, six of them." Carter thought for a moment, then sighed. "Guess this means we have six more guests for Christmas dinner."

"Dinner?" Mickey's eyes popped open and he sat up, looking around expectantly. "I was having a great dream about a topless beach, but hey, dinner's great. Where is it?"

Dutch grunted in disgust and dropped the Helljumper into the snow, then stepped over him and walked off. "Pervert," the older man muttered.

"Dinner's at our base," Carter said. "If you wish, you may join in. There are already three guests in addition to my team, but I'm sure we can accommodate you."

"That won't be necessary," Dare said. She pulled a familiar brown packet from a pouch on her belt. "We have plenty of MREs and protein paste to go arou—"

She suddenly became aware that several grown men were looking at her with puppy dog eyes, begging her to give in and let them go eat with the Spartans.

"Ma'am," Romeo said, shifting his weight uneasily, "No disrespect intended, but that protein stuff… tastes like Grunt butt."

"It does!" Mickey insisted. "It's like, torture food meant for death row prisoners!"

"Even _Covies_ won't eat it, ma'am," Dutch said. He pulled out a data chip. "Here, I have video evidence…"

"FINE!" Dare spat, stuffing the MRE packet back into her belt pouch. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm in charge of a unit of 'the UNSC's finest' or a pack of yammering five-year-olds!"

"YAAAY!" the men cheered, not even hearing her desultory remark.


	8. Chapter 8 Angst and an SOS

"Dude, we should so totally annoy Dare into letting us do this next year," Romeo whispered loudly, elbowing Mickey, who had his eyes shut and was breathing deeply. It would have looked like an ordinary calming exercise to any passerby, but Mickey's squadmates knew exactly what he was doing: inhaling the smell of food that hadn't been freeze-dried at some point in time.

"I heard that, Lance Corporal. And it's _Captain_ Dare," the woman in question sneered, pushing past the grinning ODST. She was taking everything in with a look that was part disbelief, part amusement.

"I thought Spartans and ODSTs have a relationship that's, well… er, touchy, if I may say so," Six said quietly, standing by Kat, who was watching as Dare's squad made themselves at home.

"That's true, but there is an old saying that says 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' I think that applies to ODSTs as well," Kat replied, and Six smiled slightly.

The Rookie stood apart from everyone else, looking kind of lost and overwhelmed. He had removed his helmet and now everyone could see his still-boyish, ruddy face, framed by tousled sandy hair that was over regulation length. He clutched his helmet like a talisman. Apparently he wasn't sure how to proceed in front of the Spartans, even though his squad was acting like it owned the place.

It was kind of odd how everyone was acting more or less _normal_ around each other, despite rank and branch differences. Jacob Keyes and Colonel Holland were cheerily discussing battle maneuvers, exchanging advice on space and ground tactics, while Carter put in his two cents and answered questions from the older men. Dare stood off to the side, listening to them babble, all the while keeping a watchful eye on her men, like a mistrusting mother hen. Rosenda was nowhere to be found, while Emile stood in a corner, looking disgruntled. Jun was attempting to make conversation with Miranda Keyes, who seemed preoccupied (or was it intentional?), and Kat and Six were merely observing the fun while Jorge helped Buck and Dutch haul in a container full of the ODSTs' stuff. Romeo, Mickey and the Rookie were all gawking at the tree like little kids, as if unable to believe it actually existed.

"Um, where's Rosenda? I thought she was excited about all this," Six asked Kat.

Kat shrugged. "I thought I saw her bumming around in our quarters. I can't imagine why she's not out here, but it's none of my business."

Six frowned. "Since when is anything not any of your business? _Tell_."

"Fine." Kat sighed like petulant child. "Apparently something happened between her and Emile and it's bothering her."

That hit Six like a ton of bricks. She glanced over at the sour-faced assault specialist, then looked at Kat. "Are you serious?"

"I'm not joking, if that's what you mean." Kat certainly looked serious. "The Commander's put me on hospitality duty for now, so why don't you go find our dear 344 and see what's up?"

"Me? But I…" Six felt awkward. "I'm not very good at… you know. I'm no therapist."

"Oh, just go give her a little pep talk and if that fails, use those skills of yours and drag her out," Kat said cheerily. She pushed Six in the direction of the hallway. "Bon voyage!"

"But…" Six found her legs taking her down the hallway, toward the women's quarters. Today was certainly an odd, unusual day. First a Christmas tree, then Moa burgers, then high-ranking guests, now relationships? It literally made no sense. Period. The Spartan was used to routines and pre-organized drills and code of conduct. Not chaos like this!

She found the elusive woman laying flat on her back across her cot, staring up at the dull, lifeless ceiling. Six walked in, stood there for a minute, then crossed her arms. "Kat told me to come get you," she blurted, not really liking the position the Lieutenant Commander had put her in.

"Oh, I'll be along. Don't worry." Rosenda sat up and sighed. "Sometimes I wonder, Six… are men blockheads or just plain mentally challenged when it comes to interpersonal relations?"

"Uh, come again?"

"Gah. I'm just rambling to myself. What do you know? You're lucky, you know. You're not being stalked by a psychopathic wannabe boyfriend," Rosenda mused. "Who sleeps with his knife and collects Covie body parts he's dismembered."

"I think Emile just doesn't know how to express his feelings," Six admitted. She drew on her own experience, grimly thinking of how she could never quite say the words she wanted to around certain people. It was the plague that harassed all Spartans. They hadn't been trained for etiquette, they'd been trained to break necks with a pinky. "Being cynical and stubborn seems to be our default mode nowadays. Unless you're Jorge." She suppressed a small smile, thinking of how determined said Spartan-II was to cheer her up when she got lonesome.

"I don't want to hurt him, but I also don't want to get involved in something I shouldn't. Ack, this is going to haunt my nightmares, I just know it," Rosenda complained. "As if dreaming about burning planets and horrifyingly ugly aliens wasn't already bad enough…"

"Why not just… go out there, forget it ever happened, and start over? Or at least try to find a happy medium," Six suggested. _Where am I even getting these ideas from? My usual modus operandi is a) shoot it, b) frag it, or c) assassinate it. Must be my "inner woman" directing me… wow, she actually exists! _"It wouldn't hurt to at least try."

"I guess you're right," Rosenda confessed. She smirked, her sassy personality coming through. "And just so you'll know, you look like an adorable blonde fluffy stuffed animal that needs to be squashed in a hug."

"HEY!" Six sputtered. "I do not!" _I'm muscular, tall and covered in numerous scars, plus I smell like military soap. And the sweater is atrocious._ "I'm trying to help you and you're making up silly stuff!"

"It's not silly." Rosenda stood in front of Six and played with her hair for a bit, biting her lip in concentration. "There ya go. _Now_ you look adorable."

"_I AM NOT ADORABLE,"_ Six hissed, as Rosenda rolled her eyes and tsked.

"Awww, she's blushing. C'mon, let's get this over with," Rosenda sighed, walking toward the door. "I guess I'll grin and bear it, at least until the moron makes a move. Then there's no telling what I'll do."

Six followed Rosenda, still perturbed over being called "adorable" and secretly looking forward to the events which surely were to come.

"…And that one goes there," Mickey insisted, pointing at a bare branch on the tree. "Ooh! I call that spot!" He hung a paper snowflake on "his" branch and observed it with satisfaction. "Hey Rookie, how's yours comin'?"

The Rookie looked up from his work and held up a small paper crane. Romeo made an exasperated sound. "We're makin' _snowflakes_ here, not origami," he complained.

"I think it's lovely," remarked Dutch.

For some reason or another, Romeo had brought up the idea of making paper snowflakes, so the ODSTs were gathered round the tree, snipping pieces of copy paper with their combat knives, since there were no office scissors available. Dare had given up on putting them to any intelligent use and was glowering in a corner, now and then consulting her ONI "spookbook," Buck's pet name for the datapad.

"I'm picking up a scrambled signal on our comms, sir," Kat said suddenly, squinting at a small holographic viewscreen that popped up from a data terminal built into the wall. "It's fuzzy, so its location of origin is uncertain."

"Just work your magic, Kat." Carter disengaged himself from Colonel Holland and Commander Keyes's conversation and walked over to join his subordinate. "The weather outside is probably interfering with our signal reception."

"Got it. It's a secure channel, very high priority. Someone with big clearance must be using it," Kat deduced, her fingers, both human and artificial, dancing over the tiny keyboard. "Ah. We're being hailed by someone going by the name of _Charlie Hotel_."

"Wait, did you say Charlie Hotel?" Jacob Keyes was beside them in an instant. "Can you establish a connection?"

"That's like asking if I can scratch my nose, sir," Kat said dryly, clicking a few keys, then voila! A little icon lit up green to signify a successful link. "Done."

"Your technical skills are amazing," Keyes mused, bewildered how Kat could accomplish in a few simple clicks what took his technicians at least ten minutes on a simple wall console.

"Jacob? Is that you?" a female voice asked sharply, as if shocked.

"Catherine?" Keyes said, somewhat fondly.

Jorge, who had been minding his own business across the room, became very attentive. "Dr. Halsey…" he muttered, interested.

"This is certainly a surprise," the woman on the other end said stiffly. "Perhaps you could do an old… friend a favor?"

"Such as?" Carter spoke, scowling down at the active speaker.

"Well, for starters, gathering up some shovels and ice picks and breaking me out of this tomb," Halsey said, not mincing words. "It seems that the door to my current residence has become blocked by a massive buildup of snow and ice. There was a small avalanche earlier, and because I prefer to work alone, there is no one here to assist me in getting out."

"You mean you were working _alone_, in an underground _lab_, and now you're sealed in by an _avalanche_?" Keyes sputtered, while Miranda shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"I can take care of myself, Jacob," Halsey chided. "I'm simply requesting some assistance. I'm sure there are several pairs of strong arms available to meet my need?"

"Uh…" It was obvious that there was no shortage of strong arms in this one room. "Um, of course. Don't worry, Catherine, we'll be there in no time. Where exactly _are_ you?"

"Given the nature of my work, I am unable to state this in wireless communication, but I am sure that Lieutenant Commander 320 is capable of ascertaining my location," Halsey said calmly.

Carter glanced at Kat, who smirked. "Already done. It's not far from here, easily accessed if we go via Mongoose travel." She pointed to a particular spot on the holographic map of the region. "There."

"Need us to assist, sir?" Dutch inquired, while Mickey and Romeo shook their heads in negation.

"Negative. A small team of Spartans should do," Carter said. "Jorge. You're more familiar with Halsey than us III's. You'll take Jun and Six along with the necessary equipment and extricate Doctor Halsey from her predicament."

"Yes sir," Jorge answered, almost gladly.

"Nooooo," Jun moaned under his breath, dreading having to go out in the uncomfortably cold weather… again.


	9. Chapter 9 Winter Wonderland

"Aha, now this is more like it," Jun said gleefully, prancing through the deep snow like he was on top of the world. He lifted his arms, admiring the white and gray body armor that he and the other two members of the search-and-rescue party now wore. "Not as comfy as MJOLNIR, but hey, at least it has heating. And triple the insulation we'd get in those stupid parkas."

Six couldn't help agreeing with the sniper's statement. The weather had taken a nasty turn for the worse in the last fifteen minutes, and the snow was blowing so thick it obscured her natural vision. But the HUDs of their helmets, which aesthetically resembled a cross between ODST and CQC variants, picked up infrared and also possessed motion trackers. This armor was virtually useless in battle, but today it would serve the Spartans well. It lacked the liquid-crystal layer that augmented their movements, though, so it was a bit heavy. Nothing they couldn't deal with.

Jorge turned his head to the east, his face hidden by the polarized silver visor of the helmet he wore. "That way," he said, shouldering his pack, which contained several large and heavy tools that would be used to dig through the snow and get to Halsey. "If Kat's correct, and she always is, we've got about seven miles to cover."

"I could go for a whole day in this," Jun declared happily. "As long as I'm warm, I'm game."

"Your suit all right, Six?" Jorge asked, wanting to make sure nothing was malfunctioning. After all, the armor was merely leftovers from a scrapped project called SNOWSTORM, supposed to be an innovative approach to cold-climate combat. It could have any number of glitches or faulty spots.

"Like Jun said, it's warm. I could get used to this," Six mused. She stepped over a frozen bush and then nearly yelped as she sank waist-deep into a bank of snow. "Must have stepped off the edge," she said, trying to climb out.

Jorge merely reached down, got one of her hands, and yanked her out with one pull. "Careful, now. Can't have you getting lost down under there." Then he bent down, pressed a button on one of her boots, and a metal-weave edge popped out from the rim of her sole. "There, see? It's like snowshoes."

Six did the same to her other boot and presto, same result. She tested them, walking over to the place she'd just fallen through and back. "Nifty," she remarked.

They hiked without conversation for the next twenty minutes. The sky overhead was bleak and overcast, not a single ray of light allowed to break through the thick, puffy clouds. Snow whistled past them, and the wind probably would have hurt had not their suits protected from it. No animals were out and about in this kind of weather.

"I'mmmm dreeeaming of a whiiiite Chriiiistmaaaaas…" Jun sang to himself, stomping gleefully through the deep snow.

_Back at Noble Base…_

"I should have known something would happen to bring her here," Miranda sighed, contemplating her hands, which were folded on her lap.

Her father sighed, almost sadly. "Look, I'm sure none of us were expecting for it to end up like this, but perhaps it's an opportunity to, you know, tie up some loose ends." He sat beside his daughter on the bench.

"More like _frayed_ ends," Miranda muttered.

Colonel Holland had no idea what they were talking about so he decided to try and chat up Dare. "I hear tell you're one of the best operatives ONI's got, Captain," he said, standing a few feet away from the blonde woman. "Your record is certainly impressive."

"Don't flatter me. I just do my job," Dare replied coolly. She looked the Colonel in the eye. "Your record's not half bad, either. All I had to do was glance through it to understand why they put you in charge of Spartans."

"You have access to my record?" Holland balked.

Dare's smile was either coy or dangerous. He couldn't tell which. "I have access to a lot of things, Colonel."

"Huh. Look at that Army bigshot, gettin' all chatty with Princess Evil," Romeo muttered, elbowing Buck, who just made a face at the younger man.

"So? He outranks her, she's _obligated_ to talk to him," Buck replied sourly. The Gunnery Sergeant winced as Mickey came up behind him and stuck something in his hair. "The _heck_ are you doing?" Buck grumbled, swatting whatever it was off the top of his head. It fluttered down and he glared at it. It was a red Christmas bow.

"Aw, stop it, Gunny. We're trying to make the dear Captain a Christmas present," Mickey snickered. He looped a length of ribbon around Buck and tightened it, pinning the Gunny's arms to his sides. "You know she just _needs_ a punching bag to vent all that womanly frustration on."

"Cut it out!" Buck complained, wriggling out of the ribbon, while Romeo picked up the bow and stuck it in Buck's hair again, but Buck didn't notice. It clung to his dark hair, affixed with sticky tape. "You are this close to insubordination!"

Romeo and Mickey glanced at each other, mutually agreeing not to mention the bow in their superior's hair. They had to concentrate really hard to keep from grinning ear to ear. Buck stalked off and walked past Holland and Dare, who stared after him with incredulous expressions. Dare glanced over at Mickey, and the ODST put a finger over his lips, shaking his head and looking like a mischievous child.

Dare couldn't help cracking a smile.

_Elsewhere in Noble Base…_

Emile sat on a crate, sharpening his knife. Well, one of his knives. It was his favorite one so far, the beloved kukri he carried into battle against the Covenant. It had tasted alien blood hundreds if not thousands of times since he'd first clasped it in his hand. It was literally another extension of his body.

Sharpening his knife gave him focus, something to do besides brood. He would file the blade down until it could cut the molecules floating in the air. He recalled how "normal" soldiers watched him do this and paled, because a Spartan with a knife usually meant there would be dead bodies lying around sooner or later.

He didn't know what he felt toward Rosenda. Maybe he was finally cracking, going crazy. Most people already thought he was crazy, but this was different than ultraviolence. Not knowing whether he was supposed to move forward or go back annoyed him, because Spartans were supposed to know exactly what to do all the time.

"Uh… Emile? You in here?"

Speak of the devil.

"Right here," he grunted, and heard footsteps coming from the side. Rosenda was standing there, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Look, about earlier, I…" she sighed. "I guess I overreacted."

She might as well have blasted him in the face with his own shotty. _Rosenda was apologizing for something?_ That was like Carter being effeminate, or Jun being mute. It just didn't happen, ever.

"_Ran like a bat out of hell_ is a good description," Emile mused, giving his kukri one last good swipe before looking up at her. "_I _don't even know what I was doing, frankly."

"I was thinking maybe we could, you know. Start over. Patch things up," Rosenda admitted.

"Riiiight." There was sarcasm dripping off the word. "So what do you wanna do first, make friendship bracelets or—"

He was cut off because something was obstructing his speech, and it was Rosenda. She had leaned in suddenly and kissed him smack on the mouth, and suddenly Emile felt like he could march right up to the biggest Covenant army in history and come back victorious. It was a weird… annoying… _awesome_… feeling.

The kiss ended and Rosenda stepped back, her cheeks flushed and a shaky smile on her face. "Now we're even," she blurted, then cleared her throat. "Um… yeah. That's all I wanted to say."

Emile set down his kukri, hopped down off his seat, and just stood there for a minute, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then he gave a short, barking laugh and crossed his arms. "I never said stop," he remarked, taking a step forward. "If we're gonna make up, might as well go over the top."

"Is that an invitation?" Rosenda queried shyly.

"Nope. It's an order."

"But we're the same ra—"

Emile made sure she didn't have time to finish that sentence.

_Out in the snow and the wind and the cold…_

"Almost there," Jorge muttered, plowing his way up a hill, with Six and Jun not far behind. The trio was faring well, with no major glitches so far.

Once they reached the top of the hill, they got a clear view of what appeared to be a small compound situated near the edge of a thick patch of woods. A mountainside loomed to the left, and sure enough, a large amount of snow had come down from the mountain and buried half the compound. It appeared to be a hopeless situation, but the Spartans weren't ordinary humans. They would have Halsey dug out in no time.

"So that's the mysterious base out in the middle of nowhere. Interesting. I wonder how many other mysterious bases ONI's got spread around here," Jun wondered.

"It's not our place to know, I'm afraid," Jorge sighed, beginning the descent down the steep embankment. "Unless you're Kat."

"Ha! That was actually funneeeeeeeeEEEEEEE…"

Jun had slipped on a patch of ice beneath the snow and went tumbling head over heels down the hill, trying to gain a hold but failing. He rolled over and over until he struck the bottom and made a Jun-shaped imprint in the deeper snow. "M'OKAY," he yelled, facedown.

Six shook her head. Poor Jun. She tensed her legs, then jumped, sliding surfer-style down the hill. She came to a stop near Jun and helped him up. Jorge made his way down carefully; he might have been heavier than the other two, but Spartan-IIs possessed a limber grace that the IIIs envied. Finally he reached the others and shrugged off his pack, letting it fall to the ground. He handed Six a pickaxe and took two huge shovels for Jun and himself. "Right then. Let's get to work," he said, and they hurried toward the immense mound of snow.

**So now Buck has a bow in his hair that no one will tell him about, Emile and Rosenda R N LUV, and Doc Halsey's this close to being freed. Stay tuned for moar!**

**You may look forward to an assortment of the following: ODSTs pretending to be reindeer, someone getting their tongue stuck to a pole, someone contracting a winter cold, and an awkward family reunion, among other things :)**

**Also, which is your favorite pairing in this zany holiday tale? Declare it in your reviews, people! (I wanna know, haha)**


	10. Chapter 10 Spartans vs Ice

"We're—"

_CRUNCH._

"Almost—"

_SWISH._

"Through!"

_SPLAT._

"Hey," Jun groused, reeling from the massive wad of snow that had just graced the entire front of his suit. "Watch it, man."

Jorge looked at the sniper, shook his head, then turned to look at what he'd uncovered. The trio had made excellent progress in a few short minutes, hacking and shoveling a crater in the snow. Now he was looking at a flat vertical surface that had a prominent metal handle sticking out as well as several security devices. It was a door.

"All right, let's get this thing opened up and—GAH!" Jun clamped his hand around the door handle and it sparked with electricity, shocking him even with the armor on. The sniper stepped back, muttering swear words, then something crackled and the orange lights on the security meters turned bright green.

"_You'll have to excuse the automated emergency system. It has a few… quirks," _Halsey's voice said dryly. "_I've shut down the perimeter electric system for now. I've been watching you work for several minutes now using various security cameras. So you've decided to make use of those old SNOWSTORM pieces of rubbish, I see?"_

"They're quite useful for our current objective, ma'am, which is to get you out of there and back to our base," Jorge said respectfully.

"_Ah. I see." _Halsey was quiet for a few moments, then sighed. _"I suppose I have no other options for now. And the door is unlocked…" _There was a beep, and suddenly the door latch turned on its own, and the door swung open. _"Now."_

Six voluntarily took point, with Jorge and Jun following. She entered the facility and noted how the avalanche had knocked out the power, leaving only the backup emergency system intact. A middle-aged, slender woman was kneeling by a wall console she'd dissected, having crossed a few wires and personally configured a communications unit. The woman noticed Six and stood, brushing back a lock of silvery hair from her face. "Good day, Spartans," Halsey said calmly, pushing her glasses farther up on her nose. "I trust you had a relatively uncomplicated journey?"

Jorge stepped in front of Six and took off his helmet, cradling it in the crook of his elbow. "That we did, ma'am."

Halsey's brow furrowed, then she folded her arms. "I should have known you'd come for me, Jorge. Now, let me guess who these others are." She sized up Jun and Six, her eyes narrowing behind the glasses. "Not as tall as Carter, not as confidant in carriage as Emile, definitely not Kat; you must be Jun-266. And you… female, no robot arm, not as fluid in your motions as Rosenda. Who are you?"

Six pulled off her helmet and her hair fell about her face, framing it. "Spartan-312, the new Noble Six, ma'am," she replied.

"Hm. I see." Halsey made no further comment and zipped up her thick winter coat all the way to her chin. "Well, now that we all know each other, let's get moving. I need to use your base's comm unit to contact my superiors and inform them about a project I'm working on. Also, I'll need a transport to get me back to Sword Base; I'm pressed for time and practically waist-deep in—"

"You won't be staying for dinner, ma'am?" Jorge queried.

"Dinner?" Halsey froze for a second, then huffed impatiently. "Really, I have much more important things to do than eat this evening."

"Oh."

Six thought Jorge sounded minutely disappointed, but didn't comment on it as they made their way out of the base and back into the wild open countryside.

_Back at Noble Base…_

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF PRESTON J. COLE IS THIS?"

Carter put his hands on his hips in an angry-Commander sort of way and frowned down at Emile and Rosenda, who had just been interrupted while kissing passionately on the floor in an otherwise empty and lifeless storage room.

"Um…" Emile glanced down at Rosenda, who shrugged, then he grinned an idiotic grin at Carter, one that would have looked evil had it been directed at an enemy. "Making out, sir?"

"Who injected you with hormone overload today?" Carter grumbled, watching as the two Spartans got up and dusted themselves off, fixing their uniforms. "Granted, I don't mind affection, but this is taking it a bit too far and I—"

"Commander."

He turned to see Kat staring at him with one eyebrow raised, and Emile snorted.

"Honestly, sir, hypocrisy does not become you," Kat sighed. She touched his arm. "It's Christmas. We all deserve a break of some sort. If you and I can express how we feel about each other, they can too."

Carter's face colored somewhat as he realized what he'd just been doing. "Sorry… to all of you. I guess I'm too stuffy for my own good sometimes."

"Aw, you just need Kat here to un-stuff you, that's all," Emile snickered. He draped one arm over Rosenda's shoulders and tugged her closer. "I really don't know what the heck I'm doing either, but hey, I'm not saying I don't like it. How 'bout you, Rosie?"

"No comment," she snarked, but her eyes twinkled. "You're about as experienced as a nauseated hippopotamus, but you'll learn."

"Thaaanks," Emile drawled, his usual sarcasm coming through. "How kind and supportive of you."

"I wonder when Jorge and the rest will be back with Doc Halsey? And for that matter, why is Lieutenant Commander Keyes so up tight about Halsey coming here? Is there bad blood between them or something?" Rosenda wondered. "I mean, it's really none of my business, but it seems like it's creating a problem between her and her father."

"I wouldn't know," Carter admitted. "Kat?"

"I have a few theories, but I'll keep them to myself," Kat muttered.

_In the great wide open, where it's ten below freezing…_

Six wiped the snow off her helmet's visor as she and the others made their way across snowy terrain, trekking back to Noble Base. Only five miles left to go. She stepped over a suspicious bulge that could have been a rock and winced as something in her leg armor popped. When she inspected the incident, she discovered that a bonding seal had snapped open, leaving the thick cloth underlayer exposed. It wasn't anything major; it just meant that gradually the temperature inside the suit would start to go down. But they would be back at the base in no time, so it wasn't a big deal.

"What is it, Noble Six?" Halsey asked, noticing how the Spartan paused and looked at her leg.

"Armor's malfunctioning, but it's nothing major. I can see why these never made it past the prototype stage," Six admitted.

"They are very impractical," Halsey sighed. She turned to Jorge, who had stopped when he saw Halsey with Six. "Why on earth are you out in the elements wearing these body buckets, anyway? Certainly your MJOLNIR would be far more functional."

"Er, our armor is being refitted with new upgrades. Kat's orders," Jorge said. "Won't be available for use for another three days."

"I see." Halsey wasn't wearing body armor, but her thick coat, pants and boots provided excellent insulation, and she had stated that she was wearing a self-heating jumpsuit underneath. The woman certainly had her share of grit; she walked boldly into the wind-driven snow like a maverick. Her face was obscured by a scarf and some safety goggles.

"Hey, guys, has anyone else noticed that it's getting slippery?" Jun asked, stiffening his legs to keep from sliding around. "I think we might be walking on ice."

"If my knowledge of this part of the continent is correct, and it always is, we're walking over Lake Tisza. The ice is certainly thick enough by now to handle our combined weight. There could be up to a foot of solid ice between us and the water below," Halsey stated.

Six's foot slipped a fraction of an inch and she sighed. She usually liked variables, not knowing what was going to happen next, but not knowing when one was about to slip and fall on one's backside in a humiliating manner was just plain annoying.

Jun took point, stepping in front of Six, and tensed when a sudden cracking sounded as he planted one foot in front of the other. He stepped back and the cracking noise continued. "Um… uh…" The sniper sounded worried as he tried to get away from the ominous cracking. "I'm an excellent swimmer, but I really don't think I want to—"

Something like precognition spurred Six to grab her teammate's hand, right as the cracking suddenly became louder and large hole opened up beneath them. Fortunately for Jun, he was on the edge of the hole, and grabbed onto the ice with one hand, armored fingers digging into the frozen crust. Six fell into the black, icy water, and shuddered as water seeped into the flaw in her armor. The force of her fall tore her hand from Jun's and she sunk like a rock, though she moved her arms and legs like any professional swimmer would. The water was entering her armor and weighing her down. The abrupt force of the fall also pulled at her helmet and it came off, and in the confusion she couldn't make a grab for it.

Then something grabbed her hand in a vise-like grip, almost painful, and hoisted her up. Six gasped as her head broke the surface, and then she coughed as she was hauled completely out of the water and set down on the ice a few feet away. The wind hit her like a shock wave because her face was wet and almost immediately it went numb. She blinked furiously and Jorge and Jun came into focus. Dr. Halsey pushed between the two male Spartans and knelt in front of Six. "Oh my… there must have been an air pocket beneath us. And now you're soaked to the skin," Halsey murmured, removing her scarf. "Here, take this, it should protect your face from the cold. This is no time to be wet out in this weather, with bare skin exposed!"

Jorge stuck his hand out, blocking Halsey's movement to hand Six the scarf, and instead took off his own helmet. "Keep it, ma'am. Can't have you freezing your nose off, either," he said. "This'll do a much better job anyway." He gave the helmet to Six, who took it with shaky hands.

"You're sure about this?" Halsey asked, almost surprised, then she sighed. "Very well then, you know your limits better than anyone. Let's keep moving so we can get to the base faster. She has no business being out in this longer than necessary right now."

Six put on the helmet, and her breath fogged on the inside of the faceplate. She stood up, but her legs trembled. She hated it. But her body did not react well to the intense cold that had invaded its personal space, especially now that her armor and bodysuit beneath were thoroughly soaked.

They walked for another mile or so, then Six just couldn't go any farther. Her suit of armor was freezing to her skin, it felt like, and she hated the numbness. It was like her hands, feet and legs were clunky and clumsy all of a sudden, because she couldn't communicate with them properly. She bent over, hands on her knees, and scowled under the helmet that had been Jorge's. She hated not being the invulnerable Spartan she believed she was.

"Allow me." She looked up to see a hand extended toward her, Jorge's hand. She took it, forcing her fingers to work. Jorge scooped her up, easily handling her weight, and kept on walking like it was no big deal. "You've done your bit, Six. Now let me do my job, all right?"

"S-s-since when is c-c-carting me around y-your job?" Six managed.

"Call it more of a volunteer effort," Jorge replied. The Spartan-II seemed unaffected by the bitter cold, only blinking rapidly whenever the wind hit him in the face. "I don't mind in the least bit."

Six closed her eyes. For some reason, it was easier to relax now than it had been in a long, long time. Whether it was because half her body was numb, or because Jorge was the one carrying her, she didn't know, but she had a nagging feeling that it was the latter.

**Author's Note:**

**Just so everyone will know, I intend to finish this entire thing by 12/25. As in, the last chapter will get posted on Christmas Day. Tee hee! A present for all of ya'll :D**

**I'd like to state that I pretty much kidnapped skywalker-05's Noble Six for this fic, since I haven't developed one of my own. She's a little OOC but oh well, that's why this is AU and meant for the lulz (and awww moments, too, those are nice). I don't mention her name to avoid outright plagiarizing, but I'm sure skywalker-05 doesn't mind all that much (seeing how it IS a Six/Jorge pairing and that is ten different levels of kawaii!). Rosenda is actually a canon character (she's not in Reach, but she's supposed to be a Spartan substituted for Emile on anti-Innie ops), and because Bungie describes her as "sassy," that's how I've written her. But she's basically "my" Rosenda due to me wanting to have some romantic fun with dear old Emile.**

**And I know this chapter wasn't as funny as the others, but I just got done with exams yesterday so gimme a break. Emile's still busy cutting up my notes for me and Jun won't shut up while I'm typing. (These people live in my head now, GYAAAH…)**

**And I know some of you are wondering, why didn't they just take a 'Hog or something to get Halsey? Well, maybe the weather was too bad, or something like that… or the authoress simply didn't think while making the plot? OH WELL.**

**Anyhoo. That's all I gotta say for now. Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11 Heating Up

"Oh. My."

Those were Doctor Halsey's first words as she entered Noble Base, hastily removing her scarf and goggles so she could gawk at the decorations… and the company. Upon her entry, Jacob Keyes had immediately ceased his conversation with Miranda and stood up, while Miranda remained seated and eyed Halsey with an icy, almost hostile demeanor.

Halsey looked around, taking in the sights and sounds, and her keen blue eyes flitted from the tree to the ODSTs to Kat's bright red velvet shirt. It took her a moment to accept that this was indeed reality, and she took a few more steps inside, snow sliding off her coat. Jacob Keyes walked straight toward her and held out both hands. "May I?" he asked, and she turned so he could pull off her snow-caked coat. He slung it over a nearby chair and then half-smiled, still handsome despite his years. "It's been too long, Catherine," he said, his voice, so used to giving orders, oddly gentle.

"Okay people, Spartans coming through," Jun announced, ruining the somewhat dear reunion. He shuffled through the doorway and sighed in dismay as a pile of snow formed at his feet, then hurried out of the way as Jorge came in, Six in tow. Her armor was covered in literal icicles. The Spartans hastily made their way toward the armory, and Kat took it upon herself to follow them, worried over the fact that Six was not walking on her own. Everyone stared after them, then went back to their business.

Halsey wiped her feet on the mat, shaking off the excess snow, and was surprised when Jacob took her by the hand and almost dragged her further in. "Really, Jacob, I wish I could stay, but I have many important and pressing matters to attend to, so if I could please use this base's comm unit—"

"Ah, I understand. I just thought maybe we could take a few minutes, catch up on a few things?"

Halsey shook her head. "Perhaps another time…"

Keyes kept a straight and polite face, but his eyes held more than a bit of disappointment. "I understand. I've been on a short leash lately myself."

Halsey glanced over at Miranda, who was pretending to be very interested in the ceiling, and her face fell somewhat. "Miranda…" she muttered under her breath, almost wistfully. She looked up at Jacob. "I really must be on my way as soon as possible." With that, she moved away from him and started walking toward the hallway, determined not to show any more emotion than she already had. It certainly wouldn't do… she'd burned her bridges and wasn't in the mood to rebuild them anytime soon.

Besides… she was sure that Miranda wouldn't want her to, anyway.

_In the armory…_

Six shivered as Kat hastily removed parts and pieces of her armor. The body glove underneath was sopping wet and had even partially frozen to her skin. Kat turned on a heat light overhead and it started to work; the body glove detached from her skin and Kat was able to yank some of it off. It came off in sections, and Kat left the chest and groin sections on after all the armor had been pulled away.

"You poor thing," Kat sighed, giving Six a towel, which she made good use of. The feeling was returning to her extremities and it hurt, but she wasn't about to complain. "You really were about to be a Spartan popsicle, weren't you?"

"You could—_ACHOO—_say that," Six mumbled, wiping her nose on her arm.

Then Kat rounded on Jorge, who was taking off his armor piece by piece on a different table. "And you! I understand you were trying to help Six, but walking around in this weather without a helmet on is like asking for pneumonia!"

Jorge, who was still dusted with snow on the shoulders of his armor, shrugged, dislodging the snow. "I'll live," he grunted, pulling off his left gauntlet. He walked over to Six, who had wrapped the towel around like a blanket in an effort to get warm, and shook his head. "Gah, look at ya. Your face is all red. Bet you've got a fever," he grumbled. "How do you feel?"

"Cold. Can't really breathe through my nose," Six replied. Her voice sounded nasal and stuffy. Then she grinned slightly and pointed at his face. "Your mustache. It's still frozen," she said, then coughed.

"Well, well, well, look what the blizzard blew in," Emile said lazily, strolling into the armory with Rosenda on one arm. "Don't tell me you morons went swimming."

"Involuntarily," Six sniffled.

"What's this, then?" Jorge asked, eyeing the pair.

"What's it look like?" Emile shot back.

"Oh, come on, be nice," Rosenda chided, smacking Emile's arm lightly.

"Define 'nice'," Emile said slyly, curling one arm around her waist… with his hand dangerously close to her backside.

Rosenda squirmed uncomfortably. "I swear, tonight you will have nightmares about being anally probed by psychotic Grunts!"

"Ouch," Jun chimed, from his corner of the armory. The sniper had removed all of his armor and changed into his uniform, and was adjusting the sleeves. "That's cruel."

Kat held a small scanner up to Six and frowned when it beeped. "Yep, Jorge was right. You're running a low-grade fever. From the looks of this, it's going to keep going up unless you keep warm and drink something, preferably something warm."

Six opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a violent sneeze.

"Anyway, Carter thought we'd all settle down for dinner in about an hour. How's that sound? I know I'm lookin' forward to some cranberries," Emile said. "Now, if only we had some fried Jackal to go with it, then it'd be perfect."

"Ugh. Instead we have _Moa burgers_," Rosenda mused with loathing. "Because the Marines are all _barbarians_."

"Hey, I like Moa burgers," Jun protested. "They're like, the trademark fast food of Reach. There's pride in that!"

"They're greasy and fattening and uncivilized and… and… uncultured!" Rosenda sputtered. "I mean, do we eat French fries at military banquets? NO. Same goes for Christmas. It's special."

"I don't care what we eat," Six said, clearing her throat. "It's gonna be special anyway. At least, for me it is."

"Well said," Kat remarked, crossing her arms. "All right then. Six, you put some decent clothes on and try to make yourself comfortable; we don't want that fever climbing any higher. Everyone else, out! Let the woman change in peace!" She shooed the other Spartans out the door, even though Jorge wasn't all the way through getting his armor off yet.

_In the rec room…_

"Okay, I want a confession now! Why are you people laughing behind my back!" Buck demanded, approaching Romeo and Mickey, who remained straight-faced even though the garish red Christmas bow stuck in their superior's hair made them want to cackle like hens.

"Um, we're not laughing at you, Gunny," Mickey answered innocently. "We just, uh, have this private joke that you wouldn't get."

"And why wouldn't I get it?"

"Because… just because! You just wouldn't."

"Why do I not believe you right now?" Buck sighed.

"Because you live in denial?" Romeo offered.

Buck pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He would get to the bottom of this, he swore to himself. He would find out why everybody kept whispering and pointing at him! Or it was going to drive him mad!

"Rookie!" Buck yelled, stalking toward the Private, who was busy hanging more gold ornaments on the tree. The Rookie turned immediately and straightened in front of his superior, saluting. "Put your hand down, Private. I want a straight answer. Do you know why everyone is snickering at me behind my back?"

The Rookie shook his head, no. His eyes were very wide and meaningful and void of deceit.

Buck sighed, clapping the Rookie on the shoulder as he walked by. "Thanks a lot, Rook."

The Rookie breathed a sigh of relief once Buck had gone. The "wide and innocent eyes" routine was really starting to work on his teammates after all.

Buck walked into the dining room and found Dare standing there alone, contemplating the tables that had been laid out for everyone to sit at. She was still in full armor, her hair tied back in a stern manner. She reminded him of a living, breathing ice sculpture sometimes. He wasn't about to ask her for a date, but it would be nice if she'd at least try being friendly, he thought.

"Hey," he said, getting her attention. She turned to look at him. "Whatcha up to?"

"Well, I'm still trying to accept that all of this is actually happening, plus I'm imagining with dread what my superior officers' responses are going to be once I tell them all about this little snag in our simulation, but mostly…" She sighed. "Surprisingly, I am hungry."

"Ha, that's the spirit. Can't be a Scrooge when the mess hall smells like _this_," Buck remarked, inhaling deeply. "So… what's your family doin' for Christmas? Mine's probably all drunk as skunks by now."

"My family…" Dare frowned. "How is that any of your business, _Gunnery Sergeant_?"

"Hey, hey, I was just askin'," Buck defended himself, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "No need to get all huffy."

Dare shook her head and sighed again. "For once, Buck, you're right," she muttered reluctantly. "All right then. My family's probably having a perfectly wonderful Christmas without me, because the minute I joined ONI, I was as good as dead to them." She glared at him. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Oh…" Buck was taken aback. "Veronica, I'm—"

"Sorry? Don't be. It won't fix anything." Dare waved one hand dismissively.

Buck draped one arm over her shoulders in a brotherly manner. "Aw, don't be like that. This is Christmas, for crying out loud! We could at least try to make it a merry one. Together."

Dare scowled, then the scowl dissolved and she rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm going along with this… but fine. I guess it wouldn't hurt to let my hair down a little."

As Buck guided her out of the mess hall and into the rec room, he felt a small surge of hope. Maybe he could finally convince some of the other ODSTs that "Princess Evil" really wasn't so evil after all.

_In the armory…_

Six stifled another sneeze as she finished drying her hair with a towel. She had slipped on some sweat pants and was trying to get her head dry before she put on her sweater. Satisfied that her hair was no longer damp, she picked up the woolen sweater and pulled it on, trying to figure out which holes were meant for her arms and neck.

The door opened while she was still locked in this epic struggle and she hastily pulled it down, then turned to see Jorge standing there, looking rather embarrassed. "Uh… sorry about that, Jun said you'd gone back to quarters—"

"No, no… it's fine. See, I'm already done." Six tried to smile, but was interrupted by a sneeze.

Jorge shut the door behind him, still clad halfway in the SNOWSTORM armor. "Just thought I'd finish prying off the rest of this junk. It's a bit uncomfortable, really. I highly doubt this stuff was ever intended for Spartan-IIs."

"Here, I'll help," Six offered. She went around and started unlatching the straps that connected one shoulder piece to the torso armor. "Thanks, by the way… for carrying me, and all that."

"My pleasure." The armor disengaged with a pop, and Six set it down on the table before moving on to another section. "Can't imagine how it must've felt, getting all that icy water in your suit."

"It wasn't comfy, I'll say that," Six mused. She tapped her forefinger against the armor component she'd just detached, feeling a sneeze coming on, then grimaced as it came out in a gigantic AH-CHOO. "Ugh… I hate this so, so much."

Now free of the constricting torso armor, Jorge rolled his shoulders, and Six stared. It was hard not to. Even though they'd known each other long enough to get used to their differences, Six still found herself somewhat amazed by how much…bigger… the Spartan-II was than his III brethren. Perhaps her fascination ran deeper than that, but she wasn't about to admit it to herself.

"Something wrong, Six? You're looking flushed all of a sudden," Jorge remarked, brow creasing in concern. He put one hand on her shoulder, facing her. "Perhaps we should find you some meds."

"No, I'm fine," Six managed, shaking her head. "Really, I'm fine."

The small fluttery feeling deep in the pit of her stomach said otherwise, but as usual, she wasn't going to acknowledge it just yet.

**Author's Note:**

**This chappie was a monster to produce due to the fact that I've been puking my guts up, but I have prevailed and now bestow this chunk of awesomeness upon you peasant folk xD**

**Questions? Comments? Suggestions? REVIEW.**


	12. Chapter 12 Dinner is Served

"Come on."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Can't you at least consider trying—"

"NO."

Jacob sighed and wondered which side of the family Miranda had gotten her stubbornness from, his or Halsey's. Though in this instance, he was pretty sure it was Catherine coming out in their daughter. She had her hands on her hips and was scowling darkly, daring her father to come up with one more suggestion on bonding with her estranged mother.

"You haven't spoken a single word to her in years, Miranda," Jacob said, trying to remedy the situation. "I know you resent her for a lot of things, but you have to understand—she's been involved in work that's turned the tide of the war. She gave up motherhood to save you. To save a lot of people."

"Quit telling me what I've already heard a hundred times," Miranda snapped. Then her expression softened and she sighed. "Dad, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be angry at you."

"It's all right. You've had a lot on your mind lately. We both have. It's the Keyes family curse," Jacob mused. He tipped her chin up and mustered a tired smile. "But I don't want this to be a time of bitterness for either of us. If she wants to talk, at least try to carry a conversation. Who knows? You might find some common ground."

"Doubt it," Miranda groused.

_Meanwhile…_

Doctor Halsey sighed explosively as she retreated from the comm control center, frustrated. She almost ran into Jorge, who was coming from the armory with Six following behind. "Ah, Jorge. I was wondering when we'd be able to catch up."

"Any luck with the comms in this weather, ma'am?" Jorge asked respectfully.

"None at all. I'm not surprised, really," Halsey said. "So I suppose I'll be staying here for the duration of the storm. Not what I was planning, but it will have to do."

"We don't mind your company at all," Jorge assured her. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly has," Halsey replied somewhat distantly.

"We were just on our way to dinner, actually. We'd be honored if you'd join us," Jorge suggested expectantly. "Nothing like catching up over warm food, eh?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that." Halsey shook her head. "I'm really not in the mood…"

"It's _Christmas_, ma'am. You don't deserve to be lonely on Christmas Eve. It's… well, it's just not right," Jorge insisted. "Besides, there are plenty of seats, and more food than even we're used to eating. Always room for one more."

Halsey blinked, unsure of how to react. She'd put her Spartans through so much… and yet they were willing to welcome her with open arms, like this. _If only Miranda were so forgiving…_ "I… I suppose I must accept, then," she replied, retaining her composure. She noticed Six sniffling and raised an eyebrow. "Feeling under the weather, Lieutenant?"

"Doh," Six answered. _(translation: "No.")_

"What a convincing lie," Halsey mused dryly. "It appears to be nothing more than a common cold, but I would advise lying low after the festivities are done with. Your enhanced immune system should knock it out by this time tomorrow."

"Grade," Six replied. _(translation: "Great.")_

_Elsewhere…_

Kat raised an eyebrow as Carter ran his hands down her sides, his calloused skin brushing over the soft red velvet. "Commander…" she muttered, but she couldn't resist smiling slightly. He rested his clean-shaven chin on her shoulder and she felt hot breath on her neck. "Someone's going to see us…"

"…And I'll snap their neck," Carter murmured back, almost playfully.

"Oh, you." Kat rolled her eyes. "Sometimes you're such a child, you know that?"

"At least I'm a happy one," Carter mused, pulling away and studying Kat at arm's length. "I have to admit, you look twice as beautiful in armor."

"With Covie blood and guts decorating my figure? Feh. Though I must admit, the battlefield is more… exciting," Kat replied, almost mischievously.

"What do you suggest I do to make this less _boring_, then?" Carter said in a low tone, intensity in his dark blue eyes.

"Ahem."

They both turned to see Jun standing there, looking uncomfortable. "Um… Rosenda says dinner's ready," he blurted, then backed out of the doorway and took off.

Carter looked mortified while Kat burst out laughing. She patted him on one rock-hard shoulder and sighed, shaking her head, all the while trying to suppress giggles. "Never mind. This place _is_ quite exciting at times," she said, and Carter huffed. He would definitely give Jun a speech later on about not interrupting his private moments with Kat. He didn't know _what_ would happen if any of the higher-ups found out all the juicy little details of his relationship with his subordinate… and he didn't want to find out the hard way. He just hoped the talkative sniper would use his common sense and keep his flapping trap shut for once.

_The mess hall, about five minutes later:_

"Da-a-ang," Emile muttered, surveying all the food that was laid out for the Christmas meal. The cynical Spartan had to admit, it was tantalizing, especially since it smelled like real, honest-to-God _food_, not something that had been freeze-dried. He tugged on Rosenda's ponytail, causing her to flinch. "Let's just hope it doesn't all disappear in ten seconds."

"Hey, I kept in mind all the calories we use per day. Trust me, there's plenty enough for all of us. I got backup reserves already heated up in case we run short," Rosenda shot back, grinning. "This is _the_ foolproof Christmas dinner."

Everyone was picking out seats. The ODSTs and regular Marines had taken over the far end of the table and were almost to the point of drooling as they ogled the steaming food. Even Dare looked a little ravenous as she sat stiff as a stone in a chair adjacent to Buck, who was still oblivious to the small red bow taped to his hair. Colonel Holland had his seat picked out beside Dare, and Jacob Keyes sat beside him, with Miranda directly across. Emile slid into a seat farther down and crossed his arms, impatient, while Rosenda slipped in beside him and picked lint off the lapels of her uniform. She eyed the pile of meat patties crossly. _"Barbarians,"_ she whispered ominously, while Emile just snorted.

Jun came trotting in and sat down beside Miranda Keyes, who glanced at him, then back down at her empty plate. The sniper looked a little red in the face, and Emile wondered why. Better not to ask, he thought with a smirk.

Then Carter and Kat came in, and picked out seats next to Emile and Rosenda, filling in the spaces between Rosenda and Jun. Kat's robot arm clanked as she leaned against the table, inhaling deeply with an almost delirious smile. "Ahhhh, I can taste it even now," she sighed.

Then Jorge and Six came in, with Doctor Halsey following somewhat hesitantly. She saw Jacob and approached him slowly, and when he glanced around and saw her, he stood up. "Cath—er, Doctor, how nice of you to join us," he said in a very formal fashion. He pulled out the chair next to him and beckoned for her to sit down. "Here, have a seat. There's plenty of room."

Halsey's gaze flitted over to Miranda, who was deliberately avoiding eye contact. She looked back at Jacob, whose eyes were honest and inviting, and gave a little nod. Then she took a few more steps, and sat down as Jacob pushed her chair in. She looked uncomfortable, even reluctant, but of course kept her cool and refused to appear flustered in the slightest. Miranda turned her head toward the ODSTs, pretending to be absorbed in their conversation (which was about the number of no-scope kills each of them had managed in the past six months) but obviously just wanting to ignore Halsey.

Jorge decided to mimic Jacob's gesture and pulled a chair out for Six, indicating that she should sit down. She eased in beside Dr. Halsey, and the older woman glanced over for a second, as if surprised that Six was sitting there. Then Jorge sat on Six's other side, nearly too massive for the chair that supported his weight. Six swallowed down the urge to sneeze and looked up as Colonel Holland stood, tapping his fork against his glass to silence everyone who was talking.

"This is, obviously, one of the strangest occurrences any one of us has seen for a while, aside from moments on the battlefield: Spartans, Helljumpers, Marines, a civilian, and officers like myself sitting down together for Christmas dinner. However strange and unusual this may seem, at the moment it feels as though it was meant to be. Maybe we'll all learn something during our brief time together on this night. Maybe it's time for us to look past our differences and remember that, even though some of our bones may be unbreakable and our faces hidden behind masks most of the time, we all have one thing in common: we're _human_." Holland scanned the variety of faces before him, hoping that his words were sinking in. "In these dire times, humanity can't afford to break apart over petty differences. Even something as minor as a holiday can bring us together in ways we would have never imagined. I know that many of us have families back home, wherever 'home' may be; I also know that many of us treasure memories of families long lost. But tonight, we _are_ family."

At the mention of families long lost, each of the Spartan-IIIs looked down at their empty plates. Carter gripped Kat's flesh hand under the table; Jun shifted in his seat, his jaw tight. Emile remained calm and cool, but Rosenda placed a hand on his thigh, near his knee, a reassuring gesture, perhaps seeking assurance herself. Six didn't do anything, just sniffled, but Jorge placed a hand on her shoulder all the same. Six couldn't help but feel out of place; after all, she was filling Thom-293's shoes, a position that some of Noble hadn't been willing to see replaced just yet. How was she, the "lone wolf," supposed to identify with them, when they had endured such a loss? But Jorge's hand gripping her shoulder caused her to feel less lonely, and she couldn't help feeling relieved.

No one saw it, but under the table, Jacob Keyes and Catherine Halsey were clasping hands tightly.

"Now I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm pretty darn hungry," Holland continued. This was met by muted cheers from the Marines' end of the table. "So let's put our differences aside, dig in, and wish our brothers and sisters across the stars a very merry Christmas."

"YES SIR!" all the Helljumpers shouted at once, while Dare flinched. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, SIR!"

The formalities over and done with, everyone started for the food.

The Moa burgers became an instant hit; even Dr. Halsey snagged a patty and picked it apart meticulously with her fork, nibbling on it and taking larger bites as she realized she liked it. Gunnery Sergeant Stacker and Private Chips Dubbo nodded their heads gleefully as everyone devoured the greasy burgers. "See, told ya they were outta this world," Dubbo snarked.

Rosenda just poked hers with her knife and muttered something inarticulate, while Emile downed his in five large bites, then treated them all to a loud burp. Then he scooped out half the cranberry sauce and dumped it on his plate while Rosenda looked on in half-amusement, half-horror.

Six didn't tackle the burgers; instead she dumped some mashed potatoes, creamed corn and cranberry sauce on her plate and sat there staring at it for a few seconds, then picked up her spoon and started on the potatoes. Her cold had really done a number on her appetite; what had been growing hunger earlier was now barely existent. Meanwhile, Jorge practically inhaled his serving and helped himself to seconds, then paused and watched as Six played with her food. "Not feeling hungry?" he asked, concerned.

"Dot really," Six answered. _(translation: "Not really.")_

As the meal went on, it became obvious that there was no shortage of food, as even the Spartans were able to have seconds and thirds without worry. After everyone had dined for about half an hour, Gunnery Sergeant Stacker stood up at his place and clanged his fork against his brandy mug, much louder than Holland's signal had been. "Alrighty then! Ladies and gentlemen, I call for a toast… not to the UNSC, or even Earth, but to humanity! What we're fighting for!"

"Here here!" Dutch bellowed, raising his mug.

Everyone followed suit, even the Spartans. "To humanity!" Kat barked, a fierce glint in her green eyes.

The Rookie set down his empty mug and looked around, bewildered, as the rest of the ODSTs started getting red in the face and their speech increased in volume. Nothing had changed on the Spartan end, and Halsey and the officers were sparing in their consumption, but it was quite obvious that Romeo, Mickey, Dutch, and even Buck were getting more than a little tipsy. The Rookie sat there like a calm in the eye of a storm as his comrades slapped him on the back and told tales of their exploits in the war, often accompanied by bursts of random laughter. Dare just sat there like a bump on a log, exasperated.

Emile glanced down at the carousing Marines, grinned evilly at Holland's semi-mortified expression, then reclined back in his seat with one arm around Rosenda's shoulders. "Best. Christmas. _EVER_," he snickered, downing his own brandy without a care in the world.

_Some minutes later…_

Miranda Keyes exited the mess hall and made her way to the rec room, where the Christmas tree stood tall and glittering. She paused in front of the massive tree and thought for a moment, then sighed.

"You all right, ma'am?"

Jun stood in the doorway, hanging back as if he was afraid of intruding. "Sorry, I just couldn't help but notice how you left in a hurry."

"I'm fine," Miranda stated coldly. "It was just getting too loud for my taste, if you must know."

"Ah." Jun knew she was lying, but didn't press the issue. "So…"

"That will be all, Warrant Officer."

Jun nearly jumped at the voice directly behind him. He turned to see Doctor Halsey standing there, arms crossed, obviously wanting him to leave. "I need to talk with the Lieutenant Commander. In private," Halsey said.

Jun backed away obediently. "Yes ma'am," he answered, inwardly wondering what the deal was between Halsey and the younger Keyes, but now was not a good time to pursue the question, he could just feel it.

After Jun was safely out of earshot, Miranda put her hands on her hips and exhaled slowly. "So you finally have something to say… _Mom_," she said curtly, her expression just as masklike as Halsey's, hiding her emotions.

"I have a lot of things to say," Halsey replied quietly, almost sadly. "If you're willing to hear me out, that is."

Miranda worked her jaw, considering, then let her arms drop to her sides and sighed.

"I'm listening."

**A/N:**

**ALRIGHTY THEN! Ok, so this chappie is late, late, LATE! Reason being, instead of coming home on Christmas Eve, we stayed over at my grandma's, where teh !nt3rn3tz don't work so well anymore. Soooo everything's been kicked forward a day, much to my chagrin. This was supposed to be wrapped up by 12/25… but oh well. Better late than never, aye?**

**Also, I received Halo 3 at long last under the Christmas tree. Another reason why this chappie is… delayed. :D**


	13. Chapter 13 And To All A Good Night

Dr. Halsey took a deep breath and looked into her daughter's face, the face that so resembled her own yet had obvious traces of Jacob's in it. "I'm sorry," she said calmly, holding back her emotions; years of carefully maintaining a professional mask made it easy, but it was hard at the same time. "Sorry for not being a better mother; sorry for never being there when you needed me; sorry for… well, a lot of things." She crossed her arms, mirroring Miranda's posture, and sighed. Suddenly she felt… old.

"You make it sound so easy, being sorry," Miranda remarked, neither condemning nor accepting the apology. "What does 'sorry' mean when you say it, anyway?"

Halsey was quiet for a moment, then looked away. "It means I'm ashamed of myself, really," she said softly. "What is all I've done worth when I can't even face my own daughter without feeling like a failure?"

Miranda blinked rapidly. She uncrossed her arms, shifted her weight, then took a step toward Halsey. "You're not a fail—"

"Miranda, I have failed _you_. It's obvious enough, isn't it?" Halsey gave a humorless laugh. "Perhaps I have succeeded in my scientific endeavors, but have I been a good parent? No. I've been a lousy, distracted _quasi-parent_. Maybe not even that."

Miranda was silent for a few moments, absorbing her mother's words. Then she took another step forward. "Maybe… maybe I've been a lousy daughter, too," she admitted quietly. "How are you supposed to come closer to a daughter who won't even listen?"

"You are stubborn," Halsey mused, "Like your father when he was—"

"Like _you_," Miranda corrected, now at arm's length from Halsey. "Dad may be hardheaded, but let's face it, we're two bumps on a log."

"Perhaps." Halsey appeared flustered, almost nervous now. "Miranda—"

"Mom," Miranda said gently, the icy look leaving her eyes, "Just… shut up, okay?" With that, she embraced her mother for the first time in nearly twenty years. Halsey stiffened, then put her arms around her daughter, speechless.

"Merry Christmas, Mom," Miranda said, smiling despite the wet sheen that had formed in her eyes.

Halsey didn't respond. The words wouldn't come.

Miranda had told her to shut up, after all.

_Elsewhere…_

And so it was that the ODSTs and Marines began singing Christmas carols and everyone except them thought it prudent to leave the table and evacuate into the nearby rooms. Dare managed to sneak away, leaving Buck, Dutch, Mickey, Romeo and one flustered Rookie to their madness. Well, the Rookie wasn't actually singing; he was sinking down in his chair, hoping he could get low enough to slip under the table, crawl to the far end, and make a dash for the hallway, thus escaping his predicament. But no. Mickey and Romeo grabbed him by each shoulder and forced him to join in the chorus of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas"… only it came out as "Fishmas" but no one seemed to notice.

In the rec room, which appeared warm and inviting what with the tree and decorations and all, Colonel Holland sipped at his glass of champagne while watching as the Spartans settled down. Carter sat in one of the chairs while Kat stood off to the side, resting her robotic elbow on his shoulder. Emile plunked down in a chair, exhaled heartily, then attempted to grab Rosenda as she sauntered by. She slapped him on the wrist and kept on walking, while Emile just sat back and enjoyed the view with a crafty smirk. Holland raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Could it be that Noble's Spartans were forming _relationships_ with one another? He glanced down at his drink. Or was it just the champagne getting to him? He shrugged and took another sip, choosing not to care.

Six was rubbing her afflicted eyes and hunting for meds, going down one of the winding hallways in search of relief. When she passed by one of the rooms, she balked, remaining perfectly still so as not to be spotted. Miranda Keyes and Dr. Halsey were… _hugging_. And was Miranda crying? Six couldn't tell from this angle, but it suddenly clicked that from the side, Miranda and Halsey were very, very similar. So similar they could be blood relatives… or… was it _possible…_?

She walked backwards, careful not to alert the two to her presence. Whatever was going on, she didn't want to disturb it. So she made her way to the rec room, where all the Spartans had gathered. Jorge was taking up space by the "hearth," leaning against the wall and watching as Emile told a very animated story about the time he'd assassinated an Elite with a dinner fork. While Jun debated the veracity of the tale with Rosenda, claiming the alloy used to make forks couldn't possibly have punctured through the Elite's neck sheathing, Six slipped behind Carter's chair and sat down on an ottoman, announcing her presence with a sniffle.

From the mess hall drifted the somewhat wavering tune of "O Holy Night," punctuated by a hiccup that sounded like it belonged to Mickey.

Presently Dr. Halsey and Miranda joined the group in the rec room. Jacob's eyes lit up when he saw Halsey, and she went over to sit beside him while Miranda remained standing and half-smiled, looking happy for the first time that evening. Holland, whose tongue had been loosened considerably by the champagne, was now actively arguing the possibility that the fork could have pierced through the Elite's neck armor depending on whether it was stainless steel or not. Jorge, who had grown bored with the entire conversation (which was now an all-out debate), moved closer to Six and gave her a knowing nudge. "Not feeling so great, are ya?" he asked somewhat sadly.

"I've had better days," Six replied, her voice still nasally. She mustered a smile. "You?"

"Stuffed," Jorge admitted, grinning. "If that's Christmas dinner, it's a good thing it only comes once a year, or we'd all get soft."

"It's going to be hard to go back to eating MREs after being exposed to all that," Kat agreed, having overhead Jorge's statement. She smirked, then the smirk vanished as she sensed a presence behind her. "Emile, what are you doing?"

The assault specialist smiled sadistically, shaking a ball of leaves and berries with glee. "Guess what I found!" he said in a sing-song voice, like a psychotic killer.

Kat recognized the parasitic vine clipping he was dangling above her and Carter and cocked an eyebrow. "Noble Four, what do you propose I do with that?" she asked.

"It's not what you do _with_ it, it's what you do _under _it," Emile said sweetly. He held it up higher when Kat tried to swipe it and shook his head. "You people are savages. Ain't you ever heard of 'kissin' under the mistletoe' before?"

"That doesn't apply here. Now put it down," Carter grunted.

But Kat had a glint of mischief in her eyes—the kind of glint she got when she was messing around in top-ranking ONI officials' personal emails, for example. "No, Commander, I think we should abide by this long-standing and _noble_ Christmas tradition," she purred, bending over. Before Carter could protest again, she kissed him square on the mouth, drawing it out as long and as passionately as possible, then drew herself back up and glanced coyly at Emile. "You were saying?"

Emile looked one part astounded and two parts amused. Meanwhile several brain cells gasped for vital air and suffocated inside Dr. Halsey's cranium, and she resisted the urge to point and gape like a beached fish. Holland choked on his champagne, while Dare looked slightly mortified and Carter… well, Carter just blinked like he'd been flash-banged and cleared his throat, trying to shake off the awkward moment.

"WOO!" Chips Dubbo yelled, raising both fists high in the air. "Score!" Stacker promptly whacked him on the back of the head.

Jorge couldn't help laughing, and Six's grin threatened to reach her ears. "Finally," the older Spartan muttered in mock exasperation, giving Six's shoulder a slight squeeze.

_An hour later…_

After all the excitement was over, things began to die down. The ODSTs, all of whom were soused except the Rookie, launched into war stories while sitting on the floor, and Stacker had to chase all of his Marines out so they could tend to their duties. Colonel Holland joined in the war stories, and Emile and Rosenda disappeared down the hallway. Kat sat on Carter's lap while he held her waist and rested the side of his head against her left shoulder, eyes half-lidded in contentment. They were quiet, enjoying the brief interlude of peace and each others' warmth.

Jun had actually struck up a conversation with the newly-cheerful Miranda Keyes, and they were sitting side by side one of the padded benches, while Jacob and Halsey stood nearby, clasping hands discreetly.

"Are you happy now, Commander?" Kat whispered, tapping his arm with her robotic hand.

Carter just emitted a possessive huff and smiled into her shoulder. "Why wouldn't I be?" he whispered back, his grip around her waist increasing a fraction. "I have everything I could want, right here."

"You're greedy," Kat said in mock reproof, then smirked. "Lucky for you, I don't have a problem with it."

"What about you?"

Kat jerked her head slightly at his question, then a faint, rueful smile played on her lips. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Don't give me any of that crap."

"All right then." She sighed. "A lot has happened to us as a team—to me—" She raised her artificial arm, looked at it, then lowered it again. "—but right now, I wouldn't trade this moment for any of it. I wouldn't want any of it back if it meant giving up what I'm feeling now."

Carter was silent for a moment, then raised one hand and ran it down her back, right where the mechanisms of her cybernetic arm fused with the flesh of her shoulder. "Hearing you say that… makes me feel honored to be with you, Kat. And I mean that. You have my word as a Spartan."

"I don't want your word as a Spartan," Kat accused, touching a finger to the Commander's mouth. "I want your word as a man. _My_ man."

"So be it, then," Carter murmured. He forced Kat's hands to clasp on her lap, then covered them with his own.

Kat's eyes glazed over briefly and she blinked rapidly, some color rising on her cheeks. But she settled back down, content to savor what time she had left to cherish what had been done and said.

Doctor Halsey noticed that Six had dozed off with her head on Jorge's shoulder, the both of them situated in one of the larger seats. Jorge could have been sleeping, but his eyes remained opened as slits, ever vigilant. The blonde Spartan-III, usually so rigid and sharp, was slumped over, one hand folded across her waist as her chest rose and fell slowly. It was easy for Halsey to imagine her as a child like this, while the gray creeping into Jorge's hairline made the image of his six-year-old face more difficult to recall, though it would forever be burned into her memory, like all seventy-four of the other trainees' faces were.

Thinking about the Spartans sobered her mood and she gave a little sigh. Jacob noticed the slight dip in her mood and squeezed her hand a bit. She looked up, took in his still-handsome features and calm eyes, and forced the discomfort down. Then she looked over at Miranda, who was laughing quietly at some joke Jun had told. Seeing her estranged daughter smiling lifted the burden on her heart more than a little.

Buck, who had somehow managed to stay less drunk than the other members of his squad (excluding the Rookie), staggered over to Dare and leaned against the wall, attempting to retain his dignity even though his equilibrium was practically moot. The little red Christmas bow was _still in his hair_. "So, uh-um, Caaaptain," the Gunny said, slinging an affectionate but ill-coordinated arm across the ONI agent's shoulders, "Any chance you'd uh, like to, uuuuh… join us for another round of Christmas carols? We need somebody to pitch the set, 'cause Mickey always hits it too high…"

"You mean _set the pitch_," Dare corrected. She cocked her head, then reached up and picked the bow out of Buck's hair. When she held it in front of his face, he frowned and tried to focus on it. She tossed it aside and sighed, forcing a grin. "What could it hurt? And besides, you need a copilot. Wouldn't want you running into any corners… or off any platforms. I need you in mint condition for this upcoming op."

"Gee, thanks," Buck replied, somewhat sarcastically. Then he grinned. "Y'know what, Cap'n, you're not the cold, hard chunk of flint most people think you are."

Dare blinked once, the smile on her face quickly growing to resemble bared teeth, but she bore the unintended insult well, digging her nails into Buck's shoulder as they walked out of the room. "That's very kind of you, Gunny," she said mincingly, her words veiling a threat.

Meanwhile Six stirred in her sleep and opened her eyes, jerked awake by the sound of wind howling outside, which was barely noticeable to the normal humans, but quite bothersome to Spartans. As soon as her brain had gathered the information that she was in no danger, her eyes drifted shut again and she turned her head, though the simple black wool of Jorge's dress jacket offered little comfort. The sound of his heartbeat, sturdy and calm, was enough to lull her back to sleep. It was like being in some sort of warm, agreeable bed, one that she was loath to leave anytime soon.

"Everything all right?" Jorge asked.

"Everything's just fine," Six mumbled, smiling. "Merry Christmas, Jorge."

"_Boldog Karácsonyt, Aislinn,_" came the rumbling reply, and the arm around her shoulders tightened.

Her smile widened and she burrowed in deeper. As she drifted off to sleep, one thought crossed her mind. _This… is the best Christmas I have ever had._

**-Author's Note: This should have come earlier, but my computer ate the initial draft and I had to rewrite it.**

**Also, there will be another chapter or two. Christmas Day is important too! :D And there are some things I've left unresolved. What is Doc Halsey's present gonna be? Who gets their tongue stuck to a pole? And... will there me moar guests? Stay tuned and find out!**


End file.
